


Beacon Hills Werewolf Sanctuary

by Zumbadorcito



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU where everyone lives, F/M, M/M, Multi, Plot Fic, Sanctuary AU, There is no smut, au where season 3 didn't happen, but no smut for the duration of this fic, im so sorry, non magical werewolves, really important but not major character death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2018-02-06 21:49:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 54,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1873710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zumbadorcito/pseuds/Zumbadorcito
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is a disgruntled minimum wage employee at the Beacon Hills Werewolf Sanctuary. His best friend, Scott, is one of their many werewolf inhabitants. Forty foot walls of solid concrete can’t keep them apart, and on one of his escapades inside the walls Stiles comes across Derek Hale, the newest and possibly most intimidating addition to the sanctuary. With Derek’s arrival comes a slew mysteries, and Stiles doesn't hesitate to investigate the suspicious things happening behind the scenes at Beacon Hills.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Mints' Beta: Hey reader's! Sorry about putting this off, but I've had some personal issues happen in the past couple of weeks that have made me lethargic towards summer projects, such as this, and I needed to work on those first before I could mold my mindset to focus on reading over this for Mints. Thank you guys for being so interested in this and being avid about wanting to read it I am humbled for the both of us. So have it, and enjoy!
> 
> mints: hi, sorry for the delay. hope you enjoy, comments are welcome. check either my or my beta's tumblrs for updates on the project. 
> 
> //chapter accompaniment - silver, conductive alliance

Derek ran. His ear pricked picking up a sound and he jerked left just in time to avoid a crossbow bolt to the shoulder. He sprinted straight, making sure to check his left and right for any more arrows. Trees blurred as he flew past, the night moonless and pitch black, but his eyes could see just fine. And he knew the dark wouldn’t hinder the ones pursuing him either. He was surrounded by a loose semicircle of hunters, some yards off but closing in fast. They had him cornered. He grimaced, kept running and didn’t look back. He jumped over roots, swerved around trees, then ducked low when another bolt nearly struck home in his neck. 

 

“Come on Derek! You’d be faster on all fours!” he heard the taunting shout from somewhere on his right. Definitely Kate. There were no words for how much he hated hunters, but Kate Argent in particular - screw her. Screw her with something rusty and serrated. A gun was fired, bullets hitting the ground right where Derek had just been, spurring an extra boost of speed in his step. They weren’t making much of an effort to close in on him, instead they were staying at an even distance and that couldn’t have been a good sign. Then it clicked - they were driving him. He cut right, changing directions, but knew it wouldn’t be enough to lose them. He pushed his legs to move, _move,_ when he finally spotted his opening. He pushed himself faster, thinking maybe he could make it just _maybe,_ but then his step faltered. In the distance, he could see the silhouettes of more hunters. Derek’s chest fell; the opening he’d thought might be his way out was a trap. There were more hunters, more guns, more silver-tipped crossbows. He was running right into their hands.

 

“ _Screw it,_ ” Derek muttered low, not changing direction. One hunter, maybe two he could take down. This was probably a stupid idea, but a great many ideas of Derek’s were stupid ones and somehow he managed to make at least half of them work. Maybe tonight he’d finally get lucky. He could see the faint glint off the barrels of their guns, hear the crossbows clicking bolts into place, all aimed at him. He was a few yards off of the line waiting for him, working up the shift, claws growing from his finger tips-

 

And then something stopped him short.

 

Derek howled in agony as he was brought down hard onto forest floor. He should have seen this coming. Silver-tipped bear traps were a signature of the Argent’s. He mentally pushed through the pain,  and noticed a line in front and back of him, and more to his left and right. The one clamped on his left calf was only a foot or two away from a second one, and that stilled him instantly. One might hurt like a son of a bitch but the pain was meant to make him flail and try to frantically escape it, only to be caught in a second or a third. Derek shuffled as best he could into a position he could tend to his leg, but when he saw it he knew it was over. Adrenaline and the shift were helping him to push the pain to the back of his mind, but God, it was bad. Claw trap alone, the burn from the silver was agonizing. He gritted his teeth, tried pulling the claws open but it burned his palms and he recoiled when he couldn’t take it anymore. With a hollow feeling of dread, he let his arms drop to his side. He could hear the hunters approaching. It was over.

 

Kate was the first to reach him. He didn’t look at her, not even when she knelt at his side, the butt of her rifle right next to his hand.

 

“That’s got to be kind of uncomfortable,” she said, nudging the trap. Derek bit back a groan, knowing how much the sound would please her. He glared at the ground instead, trying _very hard_ to fight the urge to lash out with his claws. He knew how futile it would be.

 

“Oh, _Derek_. And to think, you and your sister eluded us for two _whole_ years _._ You must have thought you’d finally gotten away. This must _really_ be hard for you,” Kate continued to mock in her sickly sweet 'sympathy' voice. If looks could kill, the patch of grass by Derek’s side would be deader than dead by now. He bit back the heated response he knew Kate was waiting for. She didn’t push him; she must be really enjoying this. More hunters were coming closer now, guns lowered but still alert.

 

“Target is subdued, we’re taking him in,” he heard another voice say, then a staticy reply came from a radio. Kate tutted.

 

“You know I’m kind of disappointed, Derek,” she said, shaking her head. “Thought you would’ve been more of a challenge than your bitch of a sister. Now, _she_ put up a good fight. How many bolts did we have to put in her before she finally went down? Four? Five?” Kate taunted.

 

Maybe it was the fact that he was surrounded with no way out and the situation was already as hopeless as it was going to get. Maybe Derek just wanted to put the final nail in the coffin himself, get it over with. Or maybe he just really fucking hated Kate Argent.

 

Derek snapped, lunged, and went right for the bitch’s throat. A taser to his back stopped him before he could reach his mark, and another in his side, and one more for good measure in his throat.

 

And then Derek blacked out.

 

\--

 

“Ladies and gentlemen if I could have your attention please,” Stiles said, trying his hardest not to sound like a sideshow circus clown. It wasn’t working. He felt like a dancing monkey in his uniform, slacks and a button up shirt, green sanctuary-issued vest and the logo sitting proudly on his chest. He’d considered burning the vest on more than one occasion, but that would get him fired and Stiles needed the job. The loose collection of six or seven tourists in his group shuffled together, half listening to his direction. The woman in the muumuu was paying attention at least. The lady with the five dollar snapshot camera took a picture of the lobby and shushed the five year old at her side.

 

“Right, so,” Stiles began when he had their (nearly) undivided attention. “If you’ll follow me the tour begins this way,” he motioned and set off down the hall, his shoes following the well-worn path that had unfortunately become so familiar it was second hand. The words he’d said a hundred times sprung to his lips almost on their own accord.

 

“The Beacon Hills Werewolf Sanctuary was founded in 1982 on a generous grant from the US government. Ours was not the first sanctuary in northern California, but it’s certainly one of the oldest in our area and, if I do say so myself, one of the best kept. Since its founding we’ve hosted nearly one hundred and seventy werewolves at various times. At any given time we take care of somewhere around forty to fifty werewolves, but right now the number sits at around thirty or so lycanthropes in our facilities,” Stiles moved the group down the hall from a picture of the grand opening of the facility dated September 5th, 1982. The picture was grainy, creepy more than anything, and Stiles hated looking at it. Moving down the hall he stopped them at a display of the grounds map, a picture of the building they were in along with several of the barrack-like housing in the sanctuary itself. “Beacon Hills is about your average size sanctuary,” he motioned to the scale map, which depicted an overhead view of the facility. The compounding building and parking lot were shown to size and they were small. Most of the map was taken up showing how much land the sanctuary sat on. A long vaguely circular line stemmed from either end of the compound building and continuing in an unbroken line, showing the boundaries and the wall that surrounded the sanctuary. “Our sanctuary sits on nearly twenty-five hundred square acres of forest and grassland terrain. That’s around four square miles, give or take. The sixteen miles of wall surrounding the sanctuary are forty feet high, eight feet thick and made to regulation thirty percent mountain ash/concrete. Standard silver-tipped barbed wire lines the top.” A size comparison picture of the walls was next to the map. For some reason the folks who had built this place decided an extra ten feet of wall was necessary over the law-required thirty. Stiles guessed the extra ten feet went that _little extra mile_ to show the people inside how trapped they were. Wouldn’t want them to forget.

 

The lady with the cheap camera took another picture. Her five year old picked his nose. Now that facility information was out of the way, Stiles moved them down to their less Beacon Hills-specific displays and more to the generic stuff that most sanctuaries had hanging on their walls. Werewolf information, biology, human/werewolf teeth comparisons, clay reliefs of paw prints, news headlines from the early days of sanctuary reforms. The usual good stuff. Stiles steeled himself, fixing his face in a determinedly enthusiastic expression. When he couldn’t quite manage that, he settled for neutral.

 

“As many of you may know werewolves have been public knowledge since the latter half of the eighteenth century,” he began in his boring history lecture voice. The younger members of his tour group had already tuned him out. The children were oohing and ahhing over the teeth shown in shadow boxes on the walls. They weren’t even _real._ “Initially werewolves were seen only as monsters, not people and were hunted to near extinction-,”

 

“ _Damn right,_ those monsters oughta be put down wholesale, _”_ Stiles heard from the back of his group and his mood instantly plummeted. He had one of _those_ people in his group. He continued as if he hadn’t heard the man.

 

“But as the twentieth century began, attitudes began to changed. In the latter half of the century, and especially during the rise of the civil rights movement, werewolf rights were petitioned for. Many _conservative-minded_ folks didn’t want to budge on the issue. To them werewolves weren’t people and didn’t deserve the rights of American citizens. They argued that werewolves posed too much of a risk on the population, given the rates of bite fatalities. Their arguments were totally _bogus_ however and several important Supreme Court cases brought the issue to a compromise. Sanctuaries were legalized and created under government funding. All citizens carrying the lycanthropy ‘disease’ it was called at the time, were ordered to relocated to one, and here we are now,” Stiles concluded the brief history lesson and moved the group down the hall and into their more exciting exhibit room. A display of a life-sized stuffed version of an alpha werewolf in actual wolf form stood the focal point of the hall, in the middle of the room surrounded by a low wood partition. Plaques were attached to intervals around the display, showing picture comparisons of alpha werewolves and ordinary wolves. The human to wolf shift was depicted in cartoon form on one of them. The exhibit room was where the tour would conclude, and Stiles spent the next half our ushering the group from one display to the next in a circle around the wide room until he finally gave the part of his speech.

 

“That concludes our tour, ladies and gentlemen. Don’t forget to visit our gift shop, this sanctuary is funded by your support. The stairs to your left will take you up to our observation deck where for just a dollar ninety nine you are welcome to use our binoculars to see if you can spot one of our inhabitants." Stiles watched as the visitors became more excited at that notion. "Because spying on people in a giant concrete prison isn’t creepyor a massive invasion of privacy _at all_.” The last part Stiles added under his breath.

 

“What, you don’t have them in cages for us to see? I thought you had them locked up in here. The one down in Texas had them in cages.” Stiles recognized the voice as his heckler. Customer-service smile in place Stiles turned on the man.

 

“No Sir, here at Beacon Hills we prefer to treat our werewolf inhabitants as _actual people,_ and we try to give them at least a little privacy and freedom _._ Whatever they do in Texas, _we_ don’t lock people up in cages for tourism.” The man was broad-chested, grey haired and sporting a fanny pack. He had his hands on his hips now and Stiles was sensing imminent rant coming on. Stiles was already in a bad mood, he hated tours, and assholes like this did _not_ make for a more tolerable work day.

 

“I paid good money to see those beasts!” the man complained.

 

“Sir, you paid ten dollars. Just like everyone else.”

 

“Ten bucks I’m getting a _refund_ for.”

 

“Oh _no._ Please, don’t do _that._ ” The man looked about ready to bust a hernia.

 

“I don’t like your attitude young man. I’m a paying customer, where’s your manager? I wanna speak to someone in charge of this place,” he huffed, red in the face, and grabbed his five year old by the arm. His wife, who had stayed silent in the exchange, fluttered after her husband and wailing kid who was screaming about not getting to see the _wolfies._ Stiles sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, and left his group who had mostly dissipated and moved on upstairs.

 

Finstock was going to give him so much shit for this.

 

\--

 

“Stilinski!” Stiles was in the gift shop, picking through their aisle of snacks. Wolf cakes, wolf claws, little hard candies shaped like moons. The pickings were not all that great and all stupidly wolf-themed, but it was his lunch break and Stiles had forgotten to grab the brown paper bag his father had left out for him on the counter that morning. He turned when he heard his name, and sure enough it was Finstock. He didn’t even look mad, just impatient and when Stiles made eye contact he jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

 

“My office. _Now._ ”

 

“Sir I’m on my lunch break,” Stiles said. His boss glared, then rolled his eyes.

 

“I want you in my office before you go back on duty. I mean it, no slinking off. I will find you, Stilinski,” he threatened without much heat. “Do _not_ make me find you.”

 

Stiles gave a mock salute, then Finstock was gone. He’d bought himself half an hour before he had to hear his boss’ usual rant on the customer always being right. Incidents like that morning were not uncommon when Stiles was on tour duty. Stiles had little patience for jerkass customers, and Finstock knew he hated giving tours. So he made Stiles do them anyway when he was annoyed with him. His being on tour duty that day could well have been because Stiles had parked in Finstock’s spot every day that week, but it could also have not been. Finstock didn’t like Stiles, but Stiles had yet to do anything extreme enough to get himself fired. Well, that Finstock knew of.

 

Stiles picked out a bag of pretzels, a wolf claw, which was really just a bear claw with a cheesy name, and a Coke from the case against the back wall. He skirted around the displays of all manner of stupid and cheap souvenirs, the table of glass rocks that every gift shop in America seemed to have, and brought his purchases to the tired looking teenager behind the counter. The kid rang them up without a word and Stiles was on his way. He made his way to the front desk in the lobby where a certain pretty red head was answering phones.

 

“ _Hello_ Lydia,” Stiles leaned over the tall counter to peer over at her. She didn’t look up, not even when he dangled the pastry he’d just bought.

 

“No,” she said.

 

“No? No what I didn’t even say anything-,”

 

“That’s your ‘I want something’voice. Whatever it is, no.” She looked up, looked at the pastry, narrowed her eyes, and took it anyway.

 

“I don’t have an ‘I want something’voice. That’s totally not a thing. And besides, can’t I just be a nice guy willing to buy a girl her favorite snack?” She looked up at him, arched one perfect eyebrow and he rolled his eyes.

 

“Point taken, I do want something actually,” he admitted. She opened the offered treat.

 

“Shocker there.”

 

“Derek Hale,” Stiles said. Lydia paused, about to deny him whatever it was he asked. Instead she looked up at him. He pressed. “I know he’s here, gimme details. When’d he get in, who got him, is he still in holding?” She pursed her pretty glossed lips, deciding.

 

“It’s going to cost you another one of these, tomorrow,” she relented. Stiles nodded enthusiastically. He’d buy her a hundred. She took a bite of the pastry, then began, “Argents caught him about a week and a half ago down near San Diego-,”

 

“San Diego? What the hell was he still doing in California?” Lydia shot him a look. “Sorry, continue.”

 

“He’s here, he’s been processed and he was released into the sanctuary something like…three days ago? So I heard.”

 

“That’s it? That’s all you’ve got?”

 

“What do you want from me Stiles? That’s all that happened. No incidents to report,” she shrugged.

 

“That’s a lot more banal than I thought it would be when I heard they finally got him,” Stiles mused. He backed away from the counter. Derek and his sister Laura had been priority Numero Uno for the hunters that worked out of Beacon Hills, primarily the Argent family, for two years since their big escape. The Hales were always mega news around here, a sensitive topic for most and definitely a prickly one for Stiles.

 

“Goodbye, Stiles,” Lydia finally said, breaking his thoughts. “And don’t avoid Finstock too long, I heard him looking for you earlier and I am not about to cover for you if you sneak off to the janitor’s closet by the bathrooms to take a nap. _Again._ ” And with that she dismissed him with one perfectly manicured hand, so Stiles left. He had no problem with her brusque attitude towards him, it was _Lydia Martin_. He was lucky to get an actual conversation with her most of the time.

 

Down the hall from the front desk was the employees-only door that led into the staff rooms, Finstock’s office and the elevator that led to the upper and lower levels, neither of which regular customers were allowed access too. The break room was blessedly empty. The lunch breaks were already staggered, but there was always at least a handful of employees off at the same time. They, however, usually went to the café on the third floor behind the observation deck. Stiles was the only one who went to the break room for his lunch.

 

He didn’t stay - he grabbed his backpack from his locker, shoved the pretzels and soda inside along with the rest of his stash of snack food, and shouldered it. Making sure the coast was clear, he pulled a key card out of one of the side pockets and slid it through the elevator’s reader. The elevator couldn’t be accessed without it; employees had to have special permission to go to either the upper offices or the facilities under the visitor center. Stiles did not have either, but he’d swiped the card from the head of security, aka his dad, ages ago and had figured out the code to get to the lower levels fairly easily. The elevator doors opened for him, and inside he punched in the four digit passcode that would get him down below. The door slid shut and the elevator moved.

 

He pressed himself to the side of the door when it stopped, peeked out when the doors opened and made sure the coast was clear. Stiles had specifically picked this lunch period because he knew the ladies behind the security desk on this level took their afternoon smoke break like clockwork at that exact time. He had give or take ten minutes before she returned. No one else was around, so Stiles moved quickly out of the elevator and past the security desk. A set of metal doors opened into a long hallway that ran the length of the lower level. The speckled grey-white linoleum floors and fluorescent lights were drab and clinical in comparison to the visitor center level, but the rooms down here weren’t meant for tourists.

 

This level of the sanctuary compound was dedicated to the more medical aspects of caring for the werewolves in the sanctuary. There were checkup rooms and operating rooms in case they got hurt or needed attention of that kind. There were processing rooms for moving them in and out of the sanctuary, and Stiles was headed down to one of them now. It was a couple turns down the narrow halls, but Stiles knew the way well by now and knew which door to look for. There were cameras at several intervals down this hall, but Stiles knew none of them were turned on; the compound didn’t bother monitoring this section of the hallway. They were generally more concerned with the upstairs gift shop, those cameras were _never_ out.

 

The insides of each processing room were the only other areas monitored 24/7, but not the one Stiles was looking for. Second to last at the end of the row, the outer door had malfunctioned well over a year ago and no one had ever bothered to fix it. The hallway door had been left locked and forgotten about, but Stiles was a wizard with a lock pick and had managed to jimmy his way in. He slipped inside now, careful to shut the heavy metal door after him as quietly as he could. Inside the processing room was dark, but emergency strip lights around the floor were still working even if the room wasn’t in use. The space wasn’t large. It had the same speckled linoleum floor as the rest of the level, and pale grey walls lined with heavy duty metal cabinets and counters. It resembled an average clinic room, and for all intents and purposes it was. Except for werewolves. Most of the machinery was gone, gutted when this room had been phased out of use. The only thing that remained was the gurney-like table in the middle of the room, bolted to the floor with some serious hardware. The table was flat, long enough for a grown adult man, and sported thick leather straps. He knew exactly what it was for, so Stiles tried not to look at it every time he came in here. He crossed the room to the wide hatch-like door opposite.

 

This was the only thing separating inside the facility from the sanctuary, and naturally had to pretty heavily reinforced. The hatch resembled a bank vault door, made of solid steel coated with a layer of silver, just for added lycan repellant. A hand crank was set into the middle, but processing room doors took several layers of electronic and manual locking mechanism to open. A couple of them had malfunctioned on this particular door, and no one had ever bothered to fix them seeing as the compound had five other rooms and hardly ever used them. Once Stiles had found the room, however, the locks were a quick fix for his hyperactive mind and technical prowess. Security for the room had long since been turned off for power saving purposes, so all in all, this room has been a gift from the gods themselves for Stiles. He cranked the door open, gave an almighty heave, and then he was inside the sanctuary.

 

It was always eerily quiet on the inside. Acres of forest stretched out before him, the tree line beckoning to him several yards away. This was always the part he felt a tinge of apprehension about. He was just visible from this side of the observation deck, but only if someone were to stand in exactly the right spot. It was far better to be safe than sorry about his escapades into the sanctuary, that he knew. God knew what the consequences would be if anyone were to catch him. There was no choice but to be careful enough not to ever find out. Before he could take off into the woods Stiles made sure his way back in was secure. The processing room doors were designed to blend into the sanctuary walls once closed and be impossible to open from this side. So Stiles picked out a thick and sturdy enough stick to lodge between the door and frame just enough so it wasn’t obvious it was open, but would stay so until Stiles returned. Once he double and triple checked the door he set off along the wall until he was far enough from the observation deck to be seen, and jogged across the clearing and into the woods.

 

The sanctuary sat on several acres of prime northern California forest. The trees were tall and cast the scrub underneath in deep shadow. The ground was mostly flat, rocks and boulders the only thing breaking it up. Grass was sparse but ferns grew _everywhere,_ around and under tall, scraggly bushes and shrubs. Stiles stepped over fallen logs slick with moss and followed a familiar route through the trees. He occasionally had to swat away a mosquito, but the middle of summer was usually the only time they were bad around here. It would be a while before he reached his destination, and in the meantime he enjoyed his little hike. Stiles had always liked the outdoors, and in here it was almost easy to think he was just on a walk through the preserve. It was almost easy to forget the forty foot walls cutting him off from the outside world.

 

For all the acres of forest the sanctuary sat on, the only housing for its inhabitants was a loose collection of depressed-looking concrete buildings in several rows. There was a wide expanse of dirt in the middle, a taller concrete building meant to be the mess hall and recreation area, a couple of drab looking courts for tennis and basketball, and a pool that had never seen water for as long as Stiles had lived in Beacon Hills. A metal hatch was embedded in a square of concrete on the ground in the middle of the clearing, and Stiles knew that was the feeding hatch. Workers at the compound called it that in a joking manner as if this was some kind of zoo, but that’s essentially what the hatch was. Once a month a cart that ran on an underground track all the way from the compound to here would come up the hatch laden with supplies for the inhabitants of the sanctuary. Foodstuffs, clothing, non contraband requested items like books, magazines, toiletries, or other sorts of things. It was a short list of what was allowed in the sanctuary, but for everything else that’s what Stiles was here for. He made his way to the mess hall.

 

There was no one around. Either they were in their own quarters or off doing mysterious werewolf things in the woods, Stiles didn’t know. Inside the hall was nearly empty, save for three figures sitting around a round table in the eating area. One head went up as soon as he entered, and sprung from his chair. Scott came bounding up to him.

 

“Stiles!” Scott greeted him in his usual manner - a bear hug around the middle that was more of a tackle. Scott was new to the whole werewolf strength doesn’t mix well with humans thing. He’d only been bitten less than two years ago.

 

“Ow, _ow - holy fuck Scott,_ great to see you too but _my ribs-,”_ Stiles struggled in his best friend’s embrace and finally wriggled enough for Scott to get the message and set him down.

 

“Oh shit, I’m sorry man, it’s just so freaking _good_ to see you,” Scott backed off and beamed. Stiles clamped his shoulder, maybe a little extra harder than he normally would’ve, just to see if Scott recoiled, which he didn’t, and nodded.

 

“Good to see you too buddy. Not like I wasn’t just here two days ago. But it’s good to know my absence is felt.” Scott laughed.

 

“Well with nothing but _nothing_ to do around here, yeah you’re more or less the highlight of my life these days. God that sounds so pathetic when I say it out loud,” Scott said, scratching the back of his head sheepishly.

 

“Aw, no, I think it’s really sweet,” Stiles said, grinning wide. Scott smirked.

 

“Yeah, yeah.”

 

“And I bring the party with me, so yeah of course I am the highlight of your life. Speaking of which,” Stiles paused to swing his backpack around to the front and dug several goodies out of his stash. Scott’s face light up at the sight of real junk food.

 

“I love you, Stiles. I love you so _so_ much.”

 

“I know buddy. The feeling is mutual.”

 

The other two heads at the table belonged to two other young werewolves around Scott’s age. One was a pretty but slightly scary blonde girl Erica, and the other was a tall and intimidating black boy named Boyd. There was one other were youth Stiles knew of, Isaac, but he didn’t seem to be around that day. They all knew of Stiles’ comings and goings in the sanctuary, and begged for contraband when they could. Stiles liked them all well enough, and they seemed to be treating Scott well too. They were his new group of friends now, like it or not.

 

“Lays and red bull for Scott,” Stiles said as he dished out his goodies. “For Erica, a family sized pack of peanut M&Ms, and for Boyd, you seemed like a Chex Mix man. And I’ve got a bunch of other stuff I’m sure won’t go to waste,” he said as he upended his bag and let the rest of his loot fall out.

 

“Your friend is a godsend Scott,” Erica graced him with a compliment.

 

“I do try,” Stiles said, beaming.

 

There wasn’t much to talk about, after the how have you been’s and any updates from the inside. There weren’t many, and Stiles refrained from talking about the outside world on account of how much they probably missed it. Scott, being the eternal ray of sunshine that he inherently was, had taken the change fairly well after the initial incredibly traumatic event that had led to him being bitten in the first place. Another topic of conversation they tended to avoid. But even if avoidance was a coping mechanism, it was helping him cope well. Two years ago Scott had been a regular high school freshman with nothing but the everyday pain and misery that was high school to suffer through. He had a great mom, an _awesome_ best friend, a wonderful girlfriend and a spot on the lacrosse team. Well, on the bench anyway.

And now he was stuck inside forty foot concrete walls for the remainder of his natural life. But Scott still managed to smile his dumb, dimply smile every time Stiles saw him. It made Stiles sad, and furious, in a way that he never let Scott see.

 

As for the other two, he knew only what Scott had told him. Both Boyd and Erica were bitten like him, but had been at Beacon Hills far longer than Scott. Erica didn’t like to talk about the circumstances of her being bitten, but Boyd had told Scott about the night his family’s house had been broken into by a wolf on a full moon spree, and had been the only one to survive the bite. Only one in four do, for the rest, it doesn’t end well.

 

Again, all topics Stiles tried very hard to avoid. But there was one he was dying to ask about, once Stiles was through catching them up on the latest episode of Game of Thrones. (There was TV in the sanctuary, but not that many channels.) 

 

“So have any of you guys seen Derek Hale around?” The three were teens exchanged glances.

 

“Yes and no,” Scott said.

 

“You’re going to have to explain that one.”

 

“They brought him out here on a jeep a couple days ago, but he didn’t stick around after they released him. He was out of here right after they left, and we haven’t really seen him since,” Scott explained.

 

“Gotta admit I was curious about him,” Erica said, leaning forward. “So I tried following him but _damn_ he’s fast. It’s not a big place, but he’s good at not being found when he doesn’t want to. Perks of being born with it, I guess.” Boyd shrugged. Thus far, the tall boy hadn’t contributed much to the conversation. But he never really did anyway. He kept looking at Scott, then looking away, like he was burning to ask something. Stiles had a good idea what, if Scott had told them as much about his bite as they had shared about theirs. Boyd didn’t look like he was going to, so Stiles asked on his behalf. Carefully, he turned to his friend.

 

“It’s not…weird, being in here with him, is it? Are you alright?” Scott turned a little in on himself, didn’t look at Stiles right away. His happy Scott face fell a little.

 

“No,” he said, fidgeting under the weight of their sympathetic looks. So they did know. “It’s not like he was the one that…you know. I don’t think it was his fault, either. I don’t blame him,” Scott said.

 

“It might have been,” Stiles said quietly. But like Scott, there wasn’t much heat behind it. Two years ago Scott had been bitten when a large group in the sanctuary, primarily comprised of the Hale family, had led a massive escape attempt. They’d gotten as far as the lower levels before being gunned down by security inside. There were no prisoners taken at the time, not when full werewolves were biting anyone they could get their teeth on. Including a high school kid who was delivering his mother a late night pick me up, in the wrong place at the wrong time. Melissa, a nurse working the processing rooms at the time, still blamed herself for putting Scott in harm’s way. Scott hated that she did, it wasn’t her fault. If anyone it was the Hales, who must have known their attempt wouldn’t end well. But even then, Stiles knew where they were coming from. It was hard to resent them, even if it landed his best friend inside.

 

The Hale’s assault hadn’t been entirely unsuccessful, however. Two had made it out of the chaos that had ended the life of the rest of their family; Derek and Laura Hale. And for two years both of them had managed to stay off the radar. Now Derek was back inside, a cruel twist of fate after everything he’d gone through to get free. Stiles could understand if his friend had mixed feelings about being in the same four square miles as a member of the Hale pack, but Scott waved off his worries.

 

“Besides,” Scott said, “It doesn’t look like he wants anything to do with us, anyway. There are a few like that. There’s less than thirty of us in here now, and there are the loners who live out in the woods and only come here to get food. There are a handful of other houses out there, if they don’t want to live here. Maybe Derek just likes his space.”

 

“It’s a total waste. I got a good look at him when he came in, he’s not terrible to look at. He’s _very_ not terrible to look at. And so are his abs. Not saying the pick around here isn’t…ah, inspiring,” Erica said, looking around the table, “But _damn_.” Boyd looked particularly ruffled at this, and Erica laughed and patted his shoulder. Stiles watched Scott for a beat, but he seemed sincere. Stiles wanted to say something more, but the black watch on his wrist beeped a shrill staccato and he sighed. Scott turned to him.

 

“Not already?” Scott said, looking sad. Stiles stood from the table and clamped a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

 

“Sorry bud, maybe on my weekend shift I’ll be able to stay longer,” Stiles promised. Scott was dangerously close to pulling out the puppy dog eyes that he knew Stiles couldn’t resist, but he couldn’t stay. There was a limit to how much work he could miss to reasonably chalk up to an extended lunch break, so the window of time he allowed himself visiting Scott was an unfortunately small one. He bid his buddy goodbye, and after another rib-cracking hug, Scott let him go.

 

Remembering Finstock was supposed to yell at him for that morning made Stiles want to drag his feet and put off his suffering, but he couldn’t risk getting caught just to avoid his boss. He picked up the pace on the way back, hoping to shave time off the return trip to give him a minute or two to cover his tracks and get the wet dog smell Scott always reeked of nowadays out of his shirt.

 

His feet found the path well enough, and he made good time. But as Stiles made his way back to the hatch, he had the weirdest feeling he was being watched the entire way there.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter two, hot off the press as promised. chapter three will be up same time next week, enjoy. 
> 
> //chapter accompaniment - leaving on red hill, yoko kanno

Derek woke early. It was quiet, and he didn’t open his eyes at first. He clung to the unreality of unconsciousness, the fog-like dream state that let him be ignorant of his immediate surroundings. For a beat he could almost imagine he was still in one of the dingy apartments in Mexico he and Laura had made their home for brief periods while on the run. Mexico had been safer than the states, but there had always been people after them. They could never settle down, they could never stay in one place for too long. The second they had thought they’d been safe was when Laura had gotten herself captured.

 

The moment passed and Derek could no longer pretend he was on a moldy sofa in Veracruz. The smell of northern California was too strong, the weather too mild to let him pretend for a moment longer. Still he didn’t open his eyes, instead he lay on the floor of the concrete house a little while longer, drank in as much of the smell of his surroundings for just a moment more. It was achingly familiar. In the two years since he had seen it last it hadn’t changed much, no one else had inhabited it. The house stood exactly as he and the rest of his family had left it.

 

Derek had been left in the sanctuary unconscious the day previous. After his capture the hunters had stowed him into a reinforced transport van where he woke up and spent five hours bumping around in the back of trying not to bleed out on the grating. His wounds had been bandaged minimally and the hunters didn’t seem to care jack about the capture and deliver alive mandate they were employed under.

 

After arriving at the Beacon Hills sanctuary, the doors had been opened, Derek had been immediately sedated and what followed after he only fuzzily remembered. He’d been processed, his wounds had been tended to by someone with much kinder hands, and then he’d been left in the clearing at the middle of the sanctuary he’d spent most of his life in. So a bright side in the otherwise shit situation - at least they hadn’t carted him off to somewhere completely unfamiliar.

 

After he’d regained consciousness, he’d set out immediately for the old Hale house. It was a larger place than the rows of barrack-like square living quarters near the recreation hall. There were two stories an enough small bedrooms for his family, and while it had still been cramped and drab it had been theirs. Derek had grown up in that house.

 

Cutting off that train of thought, he sat up. He’d spent the night on the first level in the former dining room, avoiding the second floor where his mother’s room had been. Barely any of their meager belongings remained, and briefly Derek wondered why they’d bothered removing the old furniture. He guessed some of the other inhabitants had liberated the unused items. Derek didn’t care enough to run around the sanctuary hunting down every last thing that had belonged to his family. He only cared about finding his sister.

 

Laura had been captured nearly two months ago now, and as she’d fallen into the trap the only thing she’d screamed at Derek was to run, get away, and _stay free._ But Derek couldn’t leave her; there was nothing in him that could resist returning for her. He had to at least try. That’s why he’d spent weeks making his way back into the states, up the west coast, and into California. Hunters had been on him the second he’d crossed the border, but he couldn’t let them catch him until he was closer to Beacon Hills. He hadn’t been sure they’d send him back here. It all would have been for nothing if they hadn’t. Derek only half regretted his decision to come after Laura, but they were family, and they were all each other had left.

 

Derek had come straight to the house thinking she’d be here, but he didn’t smell her scent anywhere near what was left of their home. After sniffing around the buildings near the middle of the sanctuary, he’d returned tired and angry. He’d stayed there hoping that maybe she'd find him there waiting, but still there was no scent of Laura in or around the woods that surrounded him. He’d search again in earnest today, but it would be slow going. The facility had done a decent job patching up his leg from the Argent’s trap, but even with his werewolf genes speeding up his healing, the wounds were deep and bandaged in a way that stiffened his leg and prevented him from moving too much. It would be at least another few days until he was running around on all fours, and for the millionth time he cursed Kate Argent to the seventh circle of Hell. All hunters, for that matter. But Kate Argent?

 

 _Fuck_ Kate Argent.

 

Derek decided to leave his home all together, accepting the fact that Laura wasn't going to be coming back there. One night there had been enough for him, he’d find another place to sleep. Too many memories clung to the place, and he couldn't let himself be distracted by them. He left, but stopped short on the front steps.

 

“Uh, hi.” There was a kid standing some yards off away from the house. Derek must have been out of practice, he should have smelled the kid coming. He was a teenage and gangly. His chin was a little crooked and he had a mess of curly hair. He looked harmless enough. Derek eyed him, said nothing. The kid scratched at his neck, withering under Derek’s gaze.

 

“I uh, just came to say hi. You know, welcome. Welcome back I guess - but sorry, that’s probably not something you wanted to be reminded of.” He shifted nervously from one foot to the next, and Derek crossed his arms over his chest.

 

“Did you want something?” Derek ventured. Derek had planned on avoiding the other wolves in the sanctuary as much as possible, not for any particular reason other than bitten wolves were generally the sorry sort and liked born wolves as much as humans did. Which is to say, not at all. Born wolves were the monsters, bitten ones were the victims.

 

“No, not really. I was going to come out here as part of your welcoming party, but Erica and Boyd didn’t want to come near this place. They told me I shouldn’t either, but I figure we’re all in the same boat here, so that doesn’t make much sense we should all avoid each other. I mean it’s not all that big a place, so that’d be kind of…hard. I guess,” the kid lost steam somewhere around the middle there and petered off. Derek could smell his apprehension, and how he only believed about half of what he was saying. There was another reason the kid was here. Derek focused on him, took in as much as he could. There was something that didn’t smell quite right about him. Something that seemed out of place, but it was a moment before Derek figured out what that something was.

 

The kid had the smell of a human on him. It was faint, not recent, but lingering. Before he could dwell he dismissed it. He’d probably been in for a checkup recently and Derek was smelling the human lab assistants. Derek nodded his thanks, not sure what other pleasantries he wanted to exchange with the kid.

 

“I’m Scott by the way-,” he interjected before Derek was about to turn heel and leave. Derek glanced back at him.

 

“Derek,” he said. Then he left. Only after Derek was gone did he realize what had set him off about the human smell clinging to the kid, Scott. He’d smelled it the day before when he’d seen the human boy in the woods.

 

\--

 

Finstock wasn’t happy, which isn't the biggest surprise. By the time Stiles had returned from his visit in the sanctuary the day before, Finstock had forgotten about Stiles and Stiles had assumed he was off the hook and had went straight to the janitor’s closet by the bathrooms for a siesta. The next day, Finstock’s memory had miraculously recovered by the time Stiles walked into the employee break room to clock in. Red faced, Finstock had called him into his office, yelled at him the usual mantra of the customer always being right, yadda yadda, etcetera etcetera, and how Stiles was a literally thorn in his side, a pain in his ass, and if he could have he would have fired Stiles on attitude alone. But they were short staffed as is and Finstock needed someone to do the jobs no one else wanted to do.

 

“Unfortunately we can’t accrue any more customer complaints this month without getting upper management involved, otherwise I’d put you on tour guide double shifts every day for the next _week,_ don’t think I wouldn’t Stilinski. But I don’t want Harris down here - you think _I’m_ bad, just wait - no, I don’t want him out here. Do me a favor, just one favor Stilinski, and keep out of trouble for a week? Can you manage that?” Finstock eyeballed him.

 

“Does this mean I’m off tour guide?” Stiles asked cautiously. Finstock rolled his eyes.

 

“Gift shop. And not a peep from you, got it?” Stiles’ fists pumped the air.

 

“Yes, thank you boss man, you’re the best,” Stiles hopped up from his chair as Finstock waved him away.

 

“But you’re on inventory tonight to make up for it,” Finstock called after him. Stiles groaned theatrically, really selling it on how miserable he was, when the opposite was true. But couldn’t let Finstock think he wasn’t suffering at least a little. Inventory wasn’t terrible, it just meant a late night and staying after closing, and gift shop duty was boring and dull in the best way possible. Stiles had to talk to basically no one and only worry about counting exact change.

 

So Stiles’ day passed in a relatively boring manner, but no amount of boredom behind the cash register was worse than giving tours. Stiles hated the job, which is why he gave Finstock so much grief when he was assigned it. Which is why Finstock punished him with it so often.

 

It was a vicious cycle.

 

Stiles sold moderately priced souvenirs, drastically overpriced candy and ugly t shirts printed with the sanctuary logo for hours until the monotony was finally broken up by his lunch. Normally he staged his visits to Scott only once every few days, just to lessen the chance of getting caught, but he wanted to make sure his friend was doing okay in light of the newest addition to the family. When his break started he picked out a couple food items, bought them and went to the break room. He had his key card out and was just about to swipe it when the elevator dinged, and he froze in place. The doors slid open faster than he could hide his card and for a second Stiles thought the jig was up, his ass was grass, all his careful planning and sneaking around over with, and his life was over. But the doors opened to reveal Melissa McCall, hair in a loose messy ponytail and nurse scrubs well worn. She jumped at seeing a face staring at her in a panicked fright.

 

“Stiles! _Jesus,_ ” she exclaimed. Stiles made a frantic movement to hide the card, but she noticed and he froze. She looked at the card, looked at Stiles, and he could feel the waves of disapproval building.

 

“ _Stiles-,”_ she started, and, quick on his toes Stiles threw his hands up.

 

“Hey, it’s totally not what it looks like-,” he began, thinking fast. Melissa moved out of the elevator and it shut behind her.

 

“Then what exactly is it? You have five seconds to explain before I radio your father,” she said, hand on her hips and eyebrows furrowed.

 

“I - uh, he actually gave me this, it’s his key. I asked for it and he totally gave it to me, I swear. I was going to use it to, um, well,” he faltered, then an idea struck him. He brought the sandwich he’d bought at the gift shop out of his pocket. “This, I was coming bring you this. Lunch, you know. Figured you hadn’t eaten, if you were still on duty. Yeah. That’s what I was doing,” he finished lamely. She didn’t look like she’d bought it, and Stiles swallowed thickly. Then to his surprise she smiled knowingly.

 

“Oh really? And this wouldn’t have anything to do with, I don’t know, Scott’s checkup that’s scheduled for later this week?” She arched an eyebrow. Stiles’ mind backtracked. Reeled. Grasped at the opportunity. He shrugged meekly.

 

“You caught me,” he confessed. Melissa looked displeased for a second longer, but rolled her eyes and took the sandwich.

 

“I can’t promise anything,” she said in a hushed tone, “But I’ll see what I can do.” Stiles took whatever lost dignity he felt at that exchange for the tradeoff of not being caught. He figured it’d be too risky trying to go down again at that moment, so after Scott’s mom left him to his own devices, he dragged his feet away from the elevator and upstairs to the café to eat his lunch in brooding silence. That is, until someone plunked a tray across the table from him.

 

“I thought we had an agreement,” Lydia said as she sat down. Startled, Stiles nearly toppled off his seat.

 

“ _Sweet Jesus_ woman, don’t sneak up on a guy like that.”

 

“Not my fault you were staring stupidly off into the distance. Back to my point, Stiles. You owe me.” In a snap it came back to him.

 

“Oh, damn, sorry. Totally slipped my mind, I’m sorry.”

 

“Sorry doesn’t taste like sweet sugary almond goodness. I’m holding you to that,” she said with a stern look. She’d bought a salad from the café, and Stiles knew that despite her soft spot for that particular pastry she had a distaste for sweet things in general. Stiles didn’t question the quirk, it gave him a bargaining chip when dealing with Lydia.

 

“So, anything new on the Hales? Will they be keeping Derek here permanently?” Lydia raised an accusatory eyebrow at him.

 

“Payment first.”

 

“Oh come on, I’ll bring you one tomorrow,” Stiles pleaded. Lydia said nothing, merely took another dainty bite of her food. Stiles slumped to the table in defeat. Lydia was a stone wall when it came to a begging. Stiles was an expert in this; he had eighteen years of experience being rejected romantically by her to back it up. Not that he’d begged, necessarily. Well, maybe there had been a _little_ begging. Stiles figured somewhere in that unreachable heart of hers she’d enjoyed watching him do it.

 

“So stingy,” he said giving up. He stood, stretched, and collected his trash. Lydia only shrugged, didn’t bother denying it.

 

The day dragged on, but despite the dull work it was better than tour-guiding. Stiles had a deep seated hatred for any and all customers that came to their sanctuary, so it didn’t sit well with him having to usher them around and describe in detail the place he so despised. In a chipper and friendly manner, no less. Stiles made no efforts to hide his distaste of the sanctuary and all it stood for, and the only reason he stayed on was to stay close to Scott and have a reason to be near him. That was also the only reason he’d gotten the job some year and a half ago.

 

That, and he desperately needed income of his own once he’d turned seventeen and gotten his jeep. His dad had paid for it, but gas and maintenance was on him. His father was head of security at the sanctuary, and after a little begging he’d pulled a few strings and helped Stiles land the job he currently held. Despite how much he loathed the place, Stiles could hang up his moral reservations easily if it meant being close to Scott and a steady (if somewhat meagre) income. Stiles had the feeling Melissa McCall stayed on for a similar reason.

 

When closing time finally rolled around Stiles caught his dad on the way out of his shift to tell him he’d been put on inventory duty.

 

“Again? What’d you do this time?” his father asked.

 

“Nothing, I swear I’m innocent. Finstock just has it out for me,” Stiles said, pleading as much innocence he could muster. His father just stared back at him skeptically, even when Stiles added on the sad puppy-dog stare. It was a trick he’d learned from Scott.

 

“ _Right._ ” His father scratched his head. “Well, be safe driving back. I’ll leave some food in the microwave out for you. Lasagna tonight.” _Oh joy_. Stiles waved his father out the door. He couldn’t find it in his heart to tell the man that was _not_ the way lasagna should look when properly cooked.

 

Stiles locked up the gift shop and made a show of sequestering himself in the inventory room after doing so, just in case Finstock came to check up on him. He did, but couldn’t fault Stiles as he presented the perfect picture of a busy little worker bee. Finstock eyed him, looked like he wanted to complain about something, but eventually left Stiles to his own devices on pain of death should he not finish the job. Stiles made a face at the back of his head as he left.

 

For half an hour after closing Stiles did get _some_ work done, but by the time half past nine rolled around he was glancing at the clock on the wall every five seconds wondering when it’d be safe to sneak down. Nighttime runs into the sanctuary were about a million times easier done than during the day, as the security desk downstairs wasn’t manned after hours. It was during the day to direct calls for the facility and manage the lab assistants downstairs, but most of the workforce on the lower level all had daylight shifts. There was hardly ever a need for them most nights, save for one night of the month, so other than full moon shifts there were only ever a couple technicians on hand downstairs most nights. Less lab assistants to direct, no real need for the ladies at the security desk to pull all-nighters. Which meant easy sailing for Stiles.

 

Finally at forty five after Stiles figured he’d gotten enough noticeable work done to keep Finstock off his back and left the inventory room, locking up after himself. Then it was almost too easy to traipse down to the lower level, past the one night guard that roamed the halls, and into his secret room. He shoved through the hatch, made sure his way back was secure, and then jogged into the waiting forest.

 

Alright, so it was a _little_ harder navigating the forest at night, but the path was familiar enough that Stiles didn’t get lost _too_ many times. He couldn’t risk a flashlight, it might look suspicious if any of the night guards on the observation deck level saw the light.

 

As Stiles walked his eyes gradually adjusted to the dark. He didn’t have werewolf senses, but he could see his feet in front of him at least. The forest was nice at night, dark and quiet.  Everything was bathed in moonlight, and Stiles caught a glimpse of it through the trees. It was nearly full, just a few more days until it would be. He wondered how Scott was handling full moons these days, if they’d become any easier for him. Stiles pushed the thought away as he entered the clearing by the housing units.

 

So he was a little off course, didn’t matter, he’d still made it in one piece.

 

Stiles found Erica and Boyd before he found Scott. Both were eating dinner in the recreation hall and sat side by side at one of the circular tables. Sad-looking TV tray microwave meals were on the table in from of them, and Stiles could see one other figure in the cafeteria. It was one of the other adult wolves, a scruffy-looking middle aged man Stiles didn’t know. Neither did Erica or Boyd, so they paid him no mind. They called him over when they saw him enter, and he sat down across from them.

 

“What up?” Stiles asked, drumming his fingers on the table top. Erica shrugged.

 

“What’s ever up around here? Nothing,” she replied.

 

“Not much a night life around here, huh?”

 

“Not normally, but come by on the full moon. That’s always a howl,” she smirked, eyes flashing gold momentarily. Next to her, Boyd chuckled.

 

“I’d love to, but I’d rather not die. I’d basically be a burger on legs, wouldn’t I?”

 

“More like a chicken, I think,” Boyd said. Erica laughed at that.

 

“Exactly. It’d make things interesting, wouldn’t you think?” she asked the boy next to her. “I wish they’d release other animals in here. Deer, rabbits, I’d even take a squirrel. It’d give us _something_ to hunt,” she sighed wistfully, probably imagining the feeling of disemboweling deer or squirrel or something equally gross. Stiles cringed.

 

“Um, ew,” he said. Erica shrugged.

 

“It’s a wolf thing,” she said.

 

“I’ll take your word for it. So where’s Scott?” Stiles asked, effectively changing the topic of conversation.

 

“He said he had something to take care of,” Erica said simply.

 

“Any idea what?” She shook her head.

 

“No, he wasn’t specific. You can stick around here until he comes back, though. Hungry?” she asked, gesturing down to her frozen dinner.

 

“No thanks, I’m good,” Stiles politely declined.

 

“Suit yourself. You can hang out with Boyd and me while you wait. Scott shouldn’t be too much longer,” she offered, and he took her up on it. No one else he knew was around. The other young werewolf Isaac didn’t seem to be around either. Not that Stiles was yearning for his particular company, the two of them didn’t get along all that well.

 

Stiles ended up whiling away a half hour with them making small talk, and it was nice, if kind of awkward. Stiles got the feeling he’d been interrupting something between them when he’d walked in, but they didn’t seem to mind.

 

Stiles followed them into another room across the hall from the cafeteria after they were done eating. Several metal benches and some folding chairs sat in a loose semicircle around a small television set bolted to the wall. It was an old, bulky TV that hadn’t been updated in a decade. A VCR player was installed on a shelf below it, and a stack of VHSs stood on the ground. The place didn’t even have a proper DVD player. _Sad._ Stiles had considered smuggling one in for them on multiple occasions, but still wasn’t sure how to sneak it in. Still, no matter how outdated their setup, it had basic cable and a remote so it passed as a form of entertainment.

 

Erica flipped through the small selection of channels for a solid fifteen minutes before giving up and settling on a nature documentary on the wildlife channel. It wasn’t particularly riveting, but Stiles had nothing else to do until Scott came back from whatever it was Scott was doing. Erica and Boyd seemed perfectly content with the documentary, entwined as they were on the bench a few seats away from Stiles. Though he assumed it was because they were paying more attention to each other than what was playing on the TV.

 

The documentary had just turned to the topic of the wildlife of the Serengeti when Scott ambled in another fifteen minutes later. Stiles nearly sighed in relief. He liked Erica and Boyd and all, but modesty was apparently not their thing. Somewhere around the time the segment on blue wildebeest had begun the two had started sucking face and had been at it for the past ten minutes straight. When Scott finally showed up Stiles was more than ready to go.

 

“ _Oh thank god_ ,” Stiles gushed when Scott walked in, jumping from his seat and making a beeline to his friend.

 

“Hey, Stiles-,” Scott began, but Stiles jerked him from the room before he could get out a full sentence.

 

“Erica and Boyd at it again?” Scott guessed. The pair left the TV room and the couple behind, making their way out of the recreation hall.

 

“Yep.”

 

“They do that sometimes,” Scott said a little sheepishly.

 

“I’m amazed how little they need to breathe. Is that some kind of werewolf ability?” Stiles asked.

 

“No, not that I know of,” Scott said.

 

“Wanna find out?” Stiles waggled his eyebrows, unable to resist. Scott pushed him away, laughing. They sat down on the steps.

 

“Come on, you wanna make out just a little? See if it works?”

 

“I appreciate the offer, but I think I’m okay,” Scott said. Stiles shrugged.

 

“Your loss.”

 

“Probably not.”

 

“So,” Stiles said, choosing to ignore that, “What were you doing before you showed up?”

 

 **“** Oh. I was looking for Derek, actually,” Scott said.

 

“Derek? Derek _Hale_? Why?” Stiles asked.

 

“I spoke to him earlier today.”

 

“Yeah? And how did that go?”

 

“Well, it certainly didn’t go for very long. He’s not much of a talker,” Scott replied.

 

“What did you two talk about?” Scott shrugged.

 

“Nothing much. I was just curious about him, so I went to say hello. But he seemed distracted, and then he disappeared before I could get a decent conversation out of him. So I got Isaac to help me look for him, and we’ve spent all day trying to track him. No luck, the guy can _move._ I just wanted to see what he was up to, I think Isaac saw it as a challenge. I’m pretty sure he’s still out there looking, but whatever Derek’s doing, he doesn’t want to be found,” Scott explained.

 

“What made you give up the chase?” Stiles asked.

 

“Well I smelled you and figured you didn’t want to be left alone with Erica and Boyd too long. Sorry I didn’t get there sooner,” Scott looked a little embarrassed saying that. His cheeks were tinged ever so slightly with pink. Apparently public make out sessions were their thing, and as such were a common occurrence. They’d never done that before when Stiles had been around, and for that he was grateful, but they were always embarrassingly couple-y whenever Stiles did see them. He felt for Scott and Isaac, who had to put up with them all the time.

 

He and Scott stayed on the steps talking for the remainder of Stiles’ visit. Most of his visits passed this way. There wasn’t much else to do, really. It was enough for the both of them just to sit and chat and goof off endlessly. Erica and Boyd never did emerge from the recreation hall, and both boys were too afraid to go find them to see what they were up to. When Stiles checked his watch and saw it was later than he thought it was, Scott jokingly asked if he wanted to sleep over. Like they were thirteen again and they’d stayed at each other’s’ house too long playing video games. Stiles got the feeling neither of their parents would be as lax about it in this case as they used to be in the past.

As tempting as the idea was, he couldn’t actually stay the night in the sanctuary. He declined Scott’s offer to walk him back and left, finding his path to the hatch. He watched the time on the way back, picking up the pace a bit. Hopefully he’d miss the night guard’s round on the way out if he timed it right. He had to clock out soon; it took a while to do inventory but not _that_ long. Best to keep suspicious behavior to a bare minimum and leave as soon as he got back upstairs.

 

Stiles was stepping over a mossy fallen log when he saw it. Two dots of icy blue in the dark bend ahead, and he froze. They were a pair of eyes watching him from the shadows. Stiles’ interaction with werewolves might have been mostly limited to Scott, Erica, Isaac and Boyd, but he knew enough about werewolves in general to know what blue meant. Stiles knew blue meant a born wolf, the true predators, and after a second of processing the sight in front of him he knew he shouldn’t have been stupid enough to refuse Scott’s offer.

 

His foot slipped on the moss and Stiles went right to the forest floor, cussing on the way down. He looked up wildly, not bothering to right himself, but the eyes watching him were gone. His heart hammered in his chest, and the blackness all around him was suddenly threatening. A twig snapped to his left and he jerked around, going completely still when an imposing figure stepped out of the shadows.

 

Stiles swallowed, mouth suddenly dry.

 

He was face to face with Derek Hale.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little late, apologies. this chapter is a little short and a little boring, but it was unavoidable. hope you enjoy anyway, chapter four coming same time next week. 
> 
> //chapter accompaniment - anything you synthesize, the american dollar

Stiles didn’t move. Nor could he, even if he wanted to. Nope, he was pretty sure he’d already died and the rigor mortis was setting in, given that he was face to face with a werewolf, and one that had a really pretty good reason for not liking people, his personal history with them and all.

 

Derek Hale was glaring at him from across the short space of only a couple of feet, eyes flashing the blue of a werewolf who had been born with natural, deadly killer instinct. Killer instinct that Stiles had a pretty good idea was directed at him at that moment.

 

Stiles had a couple of ways of dealing with panic. The one he most often fell back on was sarcasm and forced wit.

 

“Hey, uh, buddy, if you’re thinking about eating me, don’t. I’m skin and bones here. I’d taste terrible,” it came out jerky, he could hear his voice crack at least twice and briefly Stiles wondered if it were true they could literally smell fear on people. Derek stayed quiet for a beat, then took a moment to give him a once-over. Probably deciding how he wanted to eat him. Raw, or cooked? Flame broiled or as a stew? He probably had a lot of options. Given that Stiles had about a zero percent chance of defending himself against a full-grown born werewolf. Scott, being bitten and generally less strong than a born wolf, he could barely survive a hug from.

 

Derek could probably kill him with his pinky finger.

 

Before Stiles could imagine up any more gruesome methods of his demise, Derek spoke.

 

“I’m not going to _eat_ you.”

 

“That’s - that’s reassuring, thank you. Thank you very much actually,” talking fast, Stiles shifted on the ground. “Not that I meant to assume, because that would just be racist. Or species-ist, I guess. And I totally didn’t meant to it’s just, ah, well the way that you’re kind of glaring at me and generally putting off a very _murderous_ aura I…yeah. Well-,”

 

“Who are you?” Derek cut in, breaking up his string of stuttering.

 

“Um-,”

 

“Where did you come from? How have you been getting in here?”

 

“Been?”

 

“I saw you, you were in here yesterday. Now _answer_ me,” Derek growled the command and Stiles flinched.

 

“I’m Stiles!” he blurted out. “Stiles, that’s my name, I work at the sanctuary. I sneak in here, my friend’s in here, I found a way in so I could see him,” he explained in a rush.

 

“ _How?_ ” Derek demanded, another step forward. Slowly Stiles stood, hands held high to show he wasn’t making any sudden movements to run. He might have been thinking about it, but he knew he wouldn’t make it far. Still, instinct to flee was strong. He never took his eyes off Derek.

 

“It’s a secret?” he ventured. In a movement that was too fast for Stiles to even comprehend, let alone brace himself for, Derek was across the clearing and pinning him to a tree with a forearm to his throat. Suddenly there were teeth in Stiles’ face, a _lot of teeth holy God I’m going to die._

 

“ _Tell me,”_ Derek growled. “You have a way in and a way out, something that I’d like to know about _very badly._ Now tell me. How do you get in here? How do you get _out?_ ”

 

“Ow, _shit_ man,” was Stiles knee-jerk response, despite the very real danger he was about to get his face bitten off by an angry werewolf. Getting pinned to the tree hadn’t hurt all that bad actually, the knee-jerk complaint was just that. For a scary intimidating werewolf, Derek was surprisingly gentle at the whole bodily harm as interrogation tactic. Maybe he could give Scott a few pointers in the dealing with humans department. The second he did complain, though, he swore he could feel Derek loosen his grip just a fraction.

 

“I have my ways. I’m smart like that. I’m not going to tell you anything besides that-,” he said, and when Derek growled, he continued in a rush, “ _because if you try and escape it’s not going to work.”_ Stiles looked at Derek, right in the eye, gauging if the guy genuinely wasthe murdering type. Derek tried for a moment longer to glare the information out of him, but finally pulled back and let Stiles off the tree. Relief washed over Stiles, and he rubbed his shoulder.

 

“How do you know it wouldn’t?” Derek asked, once he was a reasonable distance away again. “You seem to get in and out just fine, and you’re just a skinny, defenseless human.” That stung a little, but Stiles didn’t bite back.

 

“Exactly, I’m human. If the guards catch me downstairs I can say I’m lost on my way to the bathroom. If they catch you it’s fire on sight. With bullets. _Silver_ bullets. My friend is in here, has been two years. My _best friend_. Do you really think if escape was possible, Scott would still be in here?” Derek seemed to think he had a fair point, and the glare lessened into something more of a pensive stare.

 

“Why risk it?” he said finally.

 

“Risk what?” Derek gestured around.

 

“This, why risk your neck to come in here?”

 

“Weren’t you listening? Scott’s my best friend. He’s worth the risk.” They way Derek looked at him when he said that, Stiles wasn’t entirely sure he liked it. Or even what it meant. Stiles felt for Derek, he really did. But he’d meant what he’d said about escape being a terrible idea. They wouldn’t make it to the elevator without every security guard on them in an instant, and at least life inside the sanctuary was _life._ Not death by lots and lots of guns.

 

“I may not be able to get you out,” Stiles said, using his best negotiation tone, after a long moment passed. “But I can offer other services. Not much gets past contraband through the hatch, so if you need anything that’s off the list I’m your guy. But like, within reason. I can’t sneak in pipe bombs or like, flat screen TVs. Other things I can get, small stuff.” Derek looked at him, eyebrow raised.

 

“What kinds of things?”

 

“Junk food? Pirated DVDs? How about Reese’s? You look like a Reese’s man,” he said, and Derek rolled his eyes and turned to leave him there. “Or not! Reese’s aren’t for everyone, are you more of a Snickers man?”

 

Derek didn’t seem interesting in candy bars, he said nothing further as he stalked away. A moment later he was gone, and he moved fast. Stiles tried to follow after him just out of curiosity, but the second he rounded the bend Derek was nowhere in sight.

 

\--

 

Dawn was a grey affair in the sanctuary. Mist had settled in somewhere in the middle of the previous night, and lingered as the sun rose. Murky light filtered through, and Derek watched it from the front steps of the Hale house. After the encounter with the strange human kid, Derek had returned to there out of habit more than anything. He’d told himself staying there wasn’t permanent, but it was really the only thing he could think of to do at that point. It had been three days. He still hadn’t found Laura. He tried to distract himself from the obvious explanation as to why, tried to cling to other possibilities to avoid going insane just then.

 

For the time being, until he could figure out the situation with his sister, he was, in a very literal sense, stuck up the river without a paddle. Except, possibly not. The human kid, he knew a way out. Reluctant as he was to tell, there was a way. Maybe not a very good one, maybe it would end horribly for all involved, but it was there.

 

Derek tried to cling to that.

 

\--

 

Scott found Derek where he had the day before, in the big house that no one lived in anymore. It seemed like Derek had claimed it regardless. Scott had heard things about the place, knew the rumors. It seemed fitting then that Derek would choose to stay there.

 

Scott didn’t get within five yards of him before Derek noticed him and looked up. Derek’s face seemed permanently stuck in an angry scowl, but Scott approached anyway. The others had told him to stay away, but Scott had never seen a born werewolf before. And Derek was a new thing in a place where new things hardly ever happened. How could he stay away?

 

“What do you want?” Derek growled. Scott wasn’t entirely sure about what exactly he wanted.

 

“Nothing, really. Hi? I guess,” Scott said. He stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans, shuffled his feet against the ground.

 

“I met your friend last night,” Derek said. Scott looked at him.

 

“What, who?”

 

“The human.”

 

“Stiles? You didn’t hurt him or anything did you? He’s not like most people he’s-,”

 

“Interesting. I get it. No, I didn’t hurt him. What is it with you people and assuming I’m violent?” Derek looked genuinely offended.

 

“I dunno, you look pretty scary. It’d help if you didn’t glare so much,” Scott offered. Derek rolled his eyes.

 

“I have a question for you, kid,” Derek said, ignoring Scott’s helpful comment. Scott waited, didn’t think he’d get this far with a conversation with the older werewolf.

  
“Scott,” he said. “My name’s Scott.”

 

“How did you get stuck here? You weren’t here two years ago.” Something told him Derek knew exactly how, or at least he had an idea of the reason. Scott was tempted to tell him it was none of his business, they could do that. Two years and he still hadn’t gotten Erica’s story out of her, he had no obligation to tell Derek. But.

 

“Your family,” Scott said after a moment. “The attack. I was there…downstairs. Guess I was in the way, unlucky for me. Or maybe lucky. I mean, not everyone survives the bite but…here I am.” Derek was quiet. Scott was still terrible at reading emotions, even with his heightened senses. Erica was a genius at it, reading the smells and subtle hints the body gave away. She could read people like a book. Scott, not so much. He had no idea what Derek was thinking.

 

“I’m sorry,” Derek said. Scott started.

 

“Oh, thanks- but, no that’s not why I came to talk to you. I’m not angry, or anything. I don’t blame you. It’s not like it was you,” he said.

 

“It could have been,” Derek replied.

 

“I understand why you tried to escape. I do, I hate it here and I think if we had the numbers we’d try too. But really, I don’t blame you. It’s just the way things are, right?” Derek nodded and Scott scrambled to think of a way to turn the conversation back to neutral waters. He was no good at reading Derek, but given their previous conversation he was liable to get up and run off at any given moment if he didn’t feel like continuing the conversation.

 

“I do want to ask you one more thing,” Derek broke the awkward silence.

 

“What?”

 

“My sister, Laura, she was caught by the same hunters that got me. Nearly two months ago now. She should have been brought here, but I haven’t seen her since I’ve been here. Have you? She’s just a couple years older than me, a little taller, dark hair.” Scott thought for a moment, of any of the loner werewolves he’d met.

 

“No, I haven’t. There’s no Laura here.”

 

\--

 

Inventory duty completed to a satisfactory degree, Finstock eased off of Stiles’ back, at least for the time being. He was on gift shop duty for the rest of the month, which was only a few more days but still, Stiles welcomed the prolonged break from tour guiding. When his lunch break rolled back around he wasted no time heading downstairs to pop in and see his favorite werewolf buddy. Two days in a row might have been pushing it, but okay maybe yeah Stiles was curious. Maybe he’d have another encounter with the strange and wild creature that was Derek Hale.

 

He found Scott outside the recreation hall shooting hoops with Isaac. They were mid game when he walked up, so he took a seat on the metal bench on the side of the court and let his backpack fall to the side. He didn’t have any goodies for them that day, hadn’t had the opportunity to stock up.

 

“Hey Stiles,” Scott called, breath a little thin. He and Isaac were focused on their game, even though neither were particularly good. It was the werewolf reflexes more than anything, Stiles swore. Scott had been absolutely helpless at sports before the bite, always on the bench on the lacrosse team and asthmatic to boot. So Stiles was totally sure that his newfound prowess at physical activities owed entirely to his newfound werewolfness. Convincing himself of that helped Stiles to cope with the jealousy that his best friend could now run literal circles around him whereas before they were equally pathetic together. There was only moderate comfort in that, but Stiles took what he could get.

 

Watching Scott and Isaac dip, duck and dive around each other in movements so quick they blurred was amazing, if a little intimidating. Stiles swore Isaac was about to go wolf if Scott scored another point on him when his back was turned.

 

“That’s it, I give,” Isaac said, collapsing to the ground when Scott did just that.

 

“What’s the score?” Stiles called.

 

“I dunno,” Isaac called back. “I lost count when I knew Scott wasn’t gonna show any mercy.”

 

“No pain, no gain,” Scott said, smiling as he offered Isaac a hand up. Isaac groaned, but accepted it.

 

“I’m new at this, give me a break,” Isaac said as he took a seat by Stiles.

 

“You’ll get the hang of it,” Scott reassured him. Isaac let his head drop against the back of the bench, ignoring him. Scott leaned against the trash can sitting left of them, looking down at Stiles.

 

“So Derek caught you on your way back last night, huh?”

 

“What, how did you know?” Stiles asked, eyebrow raised.

 

“He told me,” Scott said.

 

“What, are you two buddies now?”

 

“No, I just…I spoke to him this morning. He said he’d seen you in here, wanted to know more about the human that was sneaking in here.”

 

“Really?” Stiles perked up. Only a little though. “What did he want to know?”

 

“If you were mentally challenged for doing it.” Stiles shoved at Scott, who danced away laughing.

 

“Did he say anything else? I offered him Reese’s, but he said no. Do you think he'll change his mind? Does he strike you as a Reese’s or Snickers kind of guy?” Scott looked a little bewildered.

 

“No, he didn't say anything about his preference in candy bars. He did ask me if I’d seen his sister, though.”

 

“What?”

 

“Laura, he asked if she was here. He said she was caught nearly two months ago and should have been brought here.” Stiles shook his head.

 

“Dude, no she wasn’t,” he said.

 

“Uh, he seemed pretty sure she was.”

 

“No way,” Stiles replied. “No way _Laura Hale_ would’ve been captured without us hearing about it. And I haven’t heard squat about that. Look, Derek was ginormous news when he came in, Laura would’ve made the papers. She’s an alpha now, she’s gotta be near the top of Hunter’s Most Wanted. Trust me, if she’d been caught, it’d be major news.” Scott looked confused, but Stiles was sure. Laura Hale’s capture would’ve been too big a story for Stiles to not have heard it. And no one had heard didly about Laura Hale in the two years since her escape. Derek’s capture was one thing, but Laura Hale was an alpha and a much bigger priority.

 

“If you say so,” Scott said, a little unsure, but he trusted Stiles.

 

Stiles stayed as long as his lunch break would allow, tried to go a round with Isaac in the court but ended up just giving Isaac a confidence boost by sucking infinitely worse. (“I have no werewolf juice, I hate you both, _leave me alone,”_ he wheezed when they were done.) But it came time when he finally had to leave. His trip back was more or less unfortunately uneventful, a small part of him hoping for another encounter with the reclusive and glare-happy Derek. He did stop about midway to his destination to set out a pack of Reese’s, a couple other various and sundry things he’d picked up in the gift shop, and a few magazines he’d picked up in a gas station on his way to work. Definitely _not_ the sort of magazines that would make it past the contraband list.

 

“Hey Sourwolf,” he called into the forest, on the off change Derek was nearby. “In case you changed your mind about the Reese’s. And you seemed like a Busty Asian Beauties guy. Have fun with that.” Maybe Derek heard him, maybe he didn’t. Stiles left the presents on the ground and hoped they’d find their intended.

 

\--

 

Maybe it was something about the way Scott had said it, but Stiles found himself thinking about their conversation as the day wore on. Laura Hale. Derek’s older sister, and the only other surviving member of the Hale family. He knew about her, sure, who around here didn’t? Derek and Laura were big news, Laura’s capture would have been all over the place if it had actually happened. But Scott seemed sure that at least Derek was sure, and though he hadn’t gotten that information from the source himself, Stiles trusted it enough to give it more thought. He had nothing else to focus on working the gift shop, anyway.

 

When his afternoon break rolled around he found Lydia behind the reception desk.

 

“Hey, Lydia I need to ask you something-,” he started before she cut him off.

 

“You’d better have my pastry in your hand or you’re getting nothing. Ever again.” Stiles blinked, smacked his forehead. He’d forgotten, again. Shit.

 

“I’m sorry, seriously, but-,”

 

“Stiles, I’m not entirely sure you know how the whole bartering system works. You bring me a thing I want and I do a thing you want. It’s that simple.”

 

“Okay, yes, I know, I know but this is serious, I really need to know-,”

 

“I warned you,” she cut him off again in her sing-song voice. He hissed in frustration.

 

“ _Lydia,_ this is serious,” he snapped. “I really, _really_ need to know something, and I swear to god tomorrow I won’t forget and I’ll personally order you a whole _freaking case of them,_ I just need _this_ right now.” She looked up at him, glared, and gave him that _look_ that involved a lot of eyebrow.

 

“Well?” she snapped.  

 

“Laura Hale, have you heard anything about her lately?”

 

“ _Laura_ Hale? No. Nothing. Why?”

 

“Um…reasons. I got a tip from a… _source_ that said she was captured by the Argents, two months ago or so.” Lydia’s eyebrows shot up.

 

“Stiles that’s nuts, no way that would’ve happened without it being everywhere-,”

 

“I know, I know. But is there, I don’t know, any way you could check? Hunters have to keep records of captures, don’t they? And the Argents operate out of here. Can you double check somehow?”

 

“…I don’t know. Maybe,” Lydia said finally.

 

“That’s good enough for me. Thank you Lydia, and I swear to god I’ll have your stuff tomorrow. Lunch time. I won’t forget.”

 

“You had better not,” she called after him as he left.

 

That matter settled for the time being, Stiles spent the remainder of his break by the pack display just on the inside of the exhibit hall. It was directly across from the entrance to the gift shop, he spent a great deal of time staring at it on duty from his spot at the register. He liked the pictures on the wall, there were several photos of werewolves on one frame that meant to be depicting them in their natural habitat, but Stiles knew the shots had probably been taken of wolves in captivity. Probably without their consent, too. How else would a photographer be able to get so close to transformed werewolves without having their heads bitten clean off?

 

They weren’t faked, either. Some places liked to put up photos of regular wolves and tried to sell them as genuine werewolves, but Stiles could spot the differences a mile away. The two species may have shared similar ancestors, but werewolves had a certain shape and bulk to their shoulders and hind legs that was distinct. They were all generally slightly larger than the average wolf as well, though their pelts had about the same variety as natural wolves. Scott had told Stiles that his fur was brown when he transformed, but Stiles had never seen it first-hand.

 

He wondered idly what kind of pelt Derek had.

 

Under the pictures there was information about pack dynamics, research and psychological studies done on werewolves in captivity over the last half century or so. The alpha, beta and omega relationships were spelled out in bold letters, with a special section that broke down the differences between born werewolves and bitten in bullet points. Another panel off to the side was devoted entirely to alpha werewolves, and the physical difference the alpha instinct triggered in born werewolves. Researchers back in the eighties had discovered that the alpha strain of the werewolf gene, when triggered in a born werewolf, actually brought about physical changes in the wolf. They were stronger, faster, had greater healing abilities as well as an instinctual, psychological compulsion they could exert on their pack members.

 

All in all Stiles thought it was fascinating stuff, if maybe their methods of gathering the information hadn’t been that reputable. No one in the early days had cared much for safety or humane regulations when it came to testing and experimentation on captive peoples. It was awful and horrible some of the things he’d read on the treatment of werewolves, but in the long run the ends had justified the means to most people. There had never been enough of an outcry to give werewolves justice on the matter, no one cared enough to argue on their behalf. The inhumane treatment had largely been regulated away over the past few decades, but that was owing more to policies changing in favor of isolating werewolves from humans than kindness on the lawmakers’ part.

 

People were being pushed further and further away from having contact with werewolves, and nowadays humans and werewolves were hardly allowed any contact at all. Regulation upon regulation built up the wall separating humans from werewolves, and ‘out of sight, out of mind’ seemed to be the mantra of the country on that matter.

 

On that depressing note, Stiles went back to work.

 

\--

 

The afternoon crawled by at an agonising pace. Stiles got short bursts of activity now and again, but didn’t have a steady trickle to keep him busy. After more than an hour of watching the empty shop he lounged on the stool behind the counter, propping his feet up by the display of tacky beaded bracelets. His shoulder rested against the plastic shelf of brochures tacked up on the back wall. With minimal adjusting, he was able to make himself pretty comfortable.

 

There was a TV hanging in the corner of the shop, meant for playing nature documentaries or ambient background reels of sanctuary information; opening and closing hours, park information, etc. Loop after loop of boring stuff. There were several others dotted throughout the facility, one in the main exhibit hall and another behind the welcoming desk, but the gift shop one at least had access to a few other basic cable channels Stiles could flip through with the remote kept under the cash register counter. There were maybe five channels of actual programing he could choose from, and Stiles suspected his feed was the same as what the TV in the sanctuary’s recreation hall picked up. It would make sense, he supposed. He settled on a local news station, figuring it was less boring than listening to the same park information looping a hundred times an hour.

 

There weren’t many interesting stories, nothing exciting happening in Beacon Hills at the moment outside of a new Burger King opening on 4th. That is, until Stiles perked up when they started talking about the sanctuary.

 

“ _In other news, we have confirmed that the hunters operating through our local sanctuary have successfully captured and returned one of the members of the Hale pack that escaped two years ago. The public will rest assured one less of these dangerous creatures are at large, and we applaud the efforts of the hunters involved in the capture. We were unable to get a statement from the park about the name or location the lycan in question was captured, or the state they were returned to captivity in, but-,”_ Stiles didn’t let the lady on screen finish her story before he flipped the channel, glaring holes in the screen.

 

Screw her, screw her and her perky little smile plastered on her makeup-caked face.  Applaud? She had actually used that word? Applaud the people who murdered plenty of innocent werewolves a year, claiming resisted captures. Applaud the people who dragged the werewolves they could to a life of captivity behind concrete walls. Her attitude made him burning angry, fueling his vendetta against the system at large.

 

But Stiles knew how useless his anger was. Stiles, and people who shared his opinion, were few and far between. Their voices were a minority in a system that hated werewolves and the monsters they feared they were. The lady on screen had been parroting the majority view on the subject. Change was slow, agonizingly slow, and as much as it frustrated him to admit, Stiles didn’t see it happening in his lifetime.

 

Maybe things would be better someday, but for the time being the country wasn’t interested in werewolf rights. People applauded captures and the extreme right-wingers pushed to condemn the whole species every day. There just weren’t enough people who shared Stiles’ opinion on the matter.

 

Stiles wholeheartedly hated the entire awful affair, but what could one kid do to change any of it?

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posting early because sterek won round 3 of the slash madness tourney, which is awesome. because this chapter is a little early, it hasn't been beta'd yet, so bear with me if there are huge glaring typos. 
> 
> chapter five will be up back on regular schedule next week, enjoy this one. and great job winning guys :D
> 
> this chapter's musical accompaniment will be sweet victory, from spongebob (who actually sings it?) because of reasons
> 
> //ok I'm gonna take down the major character death tag because I think I was a little overcautious adding that, and I think I've given people the wrong idea. forgive me, im new at ao3.

The jeeps rolled in at seven o’clock on the dot. Two of them, carrying about a dozen security workers from the facility. Scott could hear them approaching from a mile off, it was hard not to.

 

He lay in his bunk in the one story living quarter he’d taken up residence in. It was small, one bathroom, no kitchen and just two thin chairs in the corner to call a sitting area. He had a couple shelves and drawers built into the walls, and he’d made sure to hide all the things Stiles had smuggled in for him the night before. They didn’t usually inspect his living space, never had a reason to but Scott took extra care in stowing the things away just in case.

 

The jeeps came to a stop in the middle of the courtyard, by Scott’s hearing. He listened to the footsteps of the security guards as they piled out, the clicking of their guns as they were loaded and prepped just in case the residents tried anything. No one ever did, it would be suicide, but the guards always came packing anyway.

 

The day before Isaac, Erica and Boyd had offered to hang around when they came for him, but Scott had told them to clear out to avoid any confrontation.

 

He didn’t stir, not even when he heard them approaching. Not even when they were a yard away, not until the pounding came at his door.

 

“ _Resident zero-one-one, Scott McCall,_ _you are ordered to vacate the premise and present yourself for inspection,”_ came muffled through the door. Scott knew they wouldn’t ask twice, so he heaved himself up and went to the door. He took just a second to steady himself, then opened it.

 

Hands were on him instantly. Two security guards on either side of him, both padded in layers of thick protective gear, took a grip on his upper arms; several more similarly dressed were waiting a few feet away with restraints. Scott hated them, but it wouldn’t be worth it to put up a fight. They walked him away from his house, towards the jeeps and prepared the restraints.

 

“Be advised we are authorized to use extreme force in the event that you resist restraint. Do you understand, resident?” the masked guard by his side asked him. Scott knew they didn’t care one way or another if he did, some of them were even itching for it. Asking was protocol.

 

“I understand,” came his tight reply. The restraints were thick leather straps that leashed his arms to his sides, which weren’t so bad. They were a little hard to move in but if Scott really tried he could break them. They, however, were only the first. After his arms were restrained another guard behind him shoved his head to the side with a jerk that Scott recoiled against. Before he could right himself he felt the sharp piercing pain of an injection gun to the side of his neck. It was a mild sedative, meant to make werewolves more manageable for inspections. Supposedly the stuff also suppressed the shift, but Scott had never pushed it to see if it really would stop him. It did make him drowsy, and it only took seconds for him to start to feel the effects. He swayed a little where he stood, but hands on him held him upright. Numbness came next, not enough to entirely knock out his sense of feeling, but enough to cloud it. He felt heavy, it was hard to keep his head up and eyes focused. The last part of their restraints was the part Scott hated most. A thick leather muzzle was strapped around his mouth and clasped at the back of his head, a la Hannibal Lecter. That’s who Scott tried to picture when he felt the muzzle pulled securely into place. A dangerous criminal, but still human, and not the wild and dangerous animal they thought he was.

 

After he was deemed safe enough to transport, Scott was prodded with the butts of guns towards the waiting jeeps, kept idling in the clearing. He stumbled towards it on heavy feet, no one next to him to help him this time. They weren’t very careful loading him into the cage attached to the back of the second jeep, they threw him in the tight space with little concern that he flopped down on the hard metal with enough force to dislocate his shoulder had he been human and a little less durable. The cage was slammed shut, orders were shouted to move out. Scott’s jeep took off first, and as Scott attempted to shift as best he could into a sitting position, he watched the clearing disappear behind him.

 

As they turned a bend in the dirt road that was more a footpath, Scott caught a glimpse of someone in the trees he hadn’t been expecting to see. Derek was watching them leave, and briefly he locked eyes with Scott. Derek’s face was contorted in fury, he looked ready to shift, and Scott wished he could shout some words of assurance to him. But it was all he could do to keep upright as the jeep bounced along back to the facility for his checkup day.

 

\--

 

Alright, maybe Stiles was going nuts but he was actually starting to miss tour guide duty. Finstock had never set him in the gift shop this many days consecutively in a row, and Stiles was running out of ways to keep himself entertained in the excessive amounts of downtime involved in manning the gift shop cash register. It was barely noon, an hour away from his lunch break and Stiles had restocked the shelves, swept the floor, rearranged all the magazines in the display into alphabetical order by title, _twice,_ and had resorted to counting the dots on the ceiling tiles while he waited for customers to amble in. The day was particularly slow, not much in the way of traffic in the sanctuary that day. Cell phones were strictly off limits on work hours, and that was one thing Finstock actually was a hardass about, otherwise Stiles would’ve distracted himself with Candy Crush or something to quell the boredom because _damn._ Stiles was bored. Bored, bored, _bored._

 

Maybe this was some kind of ingenious torture cooked up by Finstock - Stiles had always considered gift shop duty infinitely better than being on tour guide, but maybe this was his way of turning Stiles against the one refuge he thought he had. The _bastard._

 

Stiles sat on the stool behind the counter and glowered at the sheer magnitude of how much he hated Finstock and tried not to watch the clock as it dwindled down his time until lunch. He barely noticed when someone came to the register with purchases in hand. He was sluggish to move and ring them up, despite the relief from the monotony their arrival did provide. He paid just enough attention to note their employee vest and remember to give them a discount, but it wasn’t until he heard a staccato of hard fingernails against the counter that he snapped out of it. He knew that impatient tapping.

 

“Lydia? Wh-what are you doing here?” he blurted out. Lydia never made purchases in the gift shop. Stiles bought her things and traded them for favors, not the other way around. He looked down at what she was getting. “I swear to god I didn’t forget. Look,” he pointed down the counter to where a small case of her snacks waited. “I was _totally_ going to bring them by on my break.” Lydia waved her hand.

 

“Doesn’t matter, wanted to tell you what I found out about what you asked,” she said, and glanced around. Stiles leaned forward on the counter, all ears.

 

“Go ahead,” he said.

 

“Laura Hale _was_ captured,” she said. Stiles frowned.

 

“What - but someone would’ve, _we_ would’ve heard about it-,”

 

“There’s no mistake. I pulled up her file, with a _little_ help from Danny over in IT-,”

 

“Danny, wait,” Stiles interrupted. He knew that name. Before he could stop himself, he asked, “Like Jackson’s friend Danny?” The second the words were out of his mouth he bit his lip, eyes wide.

 

Foot, meet mouth.

 

 _Shit,_ he fucked up. He should _not_ have said that, and mentally he was smacking himself six ways from Sunday.

 

He watched Lydia, gauging her reaction. She’d stilled on the mention of Jackson’s name, averted her eyes. It was brief, it passed in a moment and then she was steeling herself in her usual expression of disdain she reserved for when Stiles was in her presence. She cleared her throat and continued as if he hadn’t spoken.

 

“Laura Hale’s file was updated a little over a month ago, but the only added information was the listing of Oak Creek,” she said, voice even. Stiles waited a beat to see if she’d turn and leave or smack him or burst into tears or anything of the more hysterical variety at the mention of her dead boyfriend’s name, but she was Lydia and she was as unruffled as ever.

 

“Oak Creek, what is that, is that like another sanctuary?” Stiles asked, but Lydia shrugged.

 

“I don’t know, probably. I would assume that’s where she was sent if she was captured. And you’re right, it was the Argents.”

 

“But where’s Oak Creek?” Stiles pressed.

 

“I don’t _know_ , Stiles. I don’t care, either. You only asked me to see if she’d been caught. She has, end of story.” So she said, but her gaze ventured away from Stiles momentarily. Stiles focused on her. Something was off, and it wasn’t what he’d said about Jackson.

 

“Lydia, what is it?” he asked. She didn’t meet his eyes. “ _Lydia,_ what?” She huffed, turned to him.

 

“I don’t know. Nothing. Maybe. It’s _probably_ nothing. I just…had a feeling, reading over her file.”

 

“A feeling?”

 

“Like something was out of place,” she said, then she shook her head. “It’s probably nothing. Oak Creek is probably another sanctuary in the area. Makes sense they wouldn’t transfer her back here, not after what happened.”

 

“Yeah but then why would they have put Derek here?” Stiles mused. It didn’t add up.

 

“Maybe they wanted to keep them apart, maybe they thought together they’d try and escape again. Who knows,” she said, but she didn’t sound convinced.

 

“Thanks,” Stiles said. Lydia smiled.

 

“No problem,” she said, then paused. “…But I’m going to double check things, just in case I missed something,” she said, mostly to herself.

 

“Okay. And seriously Lydia, thanks.”

 

\--

 

To his surprise, Scott’s mom stopped him on his way upstairs to the café for lunch. Stiles had decided that day was a no go to see Scott and he’d wait until Lydia had more information to go in with. What they knew so far was pretty big news, but Stiles didn’t want to drop it on Derek without giving him something else to go on. Stiles wasn’t sure why he cared so much, and what difference it would make for Derek to know, but still. Something in Stiles wanted to see this through, be it empathy or a hyperactive brain and an unhealthy curiosity.

 

Anyway, Ms. McCall.

 

“ _Stiles_ ,” she whisper-shouted from across the hall to get his attention. He startled, then turned and saw her.

 

“Ms. McCall?” She walked over hurriedly, grabbed his arm and steered him away from the staircase.

 

“Just be quiet, hold these and follow me,” she said, and handed him a stack of manila folders. Stiles took them without protest. She steered him to the employee room, to the elevator and slid her key card to open the doors. Bewildered, Stiles began to ask what the heck she was doing, but she shushed him and keyed the code.

 

“Don’t look at anyone, don’t talk to anyone, and act like you know where you’re going,” she told him. He nodded, and fought the urge to tell her he knew well how to sneak about downstairs. He kept his mouth shut and figured she would explain things at _some_ point.

 

The doors opened and she ushered him out of the elevator and down the hall. To his surprise she turned him down his familiar route to the processing rooms and for a moment he felt a spike of panic, but she turned two doors ahead of his secret entry hatch. Another swipe of her key card was required to get in this door, and another code to open it. The door hissed open and Melissa shoved Stiles inside, looking both ways down the hallway to make sure no one had seen them.

 

“Stiles!” Stiles whipped around at his name to see Scott sitting on the processing room table.

 

“I told you I’d see what I could do,” Melissa said, looking quite proud of herself. She checked her wrist watch against the one on the wall. “Now, you boys have five minutes. I know it’s not much, but that’s all I can give you, okay?” Stiles nodded, and she gave them a thumbs up and left, giving them some privacy she assumed they needed. After all, supposedly they hadn’t seen each other since the last time she’d snuck Stiles in for a visit on his checkup day some months ago. When she left, the two turned to each other and snickered.

 

“So, we should probably get a good tearful reunion going on for her by the time she gets back,” Stiles said, setting the stack of decoy folders down on a countertop. He wondered what they actually were, but didn’t care enough to peruse through them.

 

“Maybe, she looked so conspiratorial when she left. I’d wondered what she was up to,” Scott laughed. Scott looked healthy as ever, and Stiles knew the checkups were perfunctory at best and at worst an excuse to order the wolves around like lab animals. Scott was sitting on the metal table, hunched forward with his legs swinging over the side and his elbows on his knees. He was shirtless, dressed in only a pair of grey sweatpants with no shoes. There was a probe attached to his chest a couple inches below the collar bone, and another under his heart. Stiles tried very hard not to think about their situation too much, how if he hadn’t found a way in to see Scott this would’ve been all he had. Only seeing his best friend once a month at the most. It gave Stiles a tight feeling in his chest thinking about it, and he could only imagine how Scott had to feel about it all. Which is why Stiles tried so hard not to talk about it, because talking about it made all the shit they had to deal with unbearable. Laughing it off and cracking stupid jokes to ease his friend’s mind off it, that was Stiles’ specialty.

 

Scott glanced nervously up at the camera on the wall. Stiles followed his gaze, but shook his head.

 

“Don’t worry about that, its recording video but not sound. We’re cool in here,” he said.

 

“But…won’t they still see you?” Scott asked. Stiles waved off his concerns.

 

“They’re not watching these too closely. If someone is even checking, they’ll assume I’m just a lab technician or whatever. They don’t care unless one of you is trying to escape,” Stiles explained.

 

“Oh, good. Great. I just…I wish I could tell her, Stiles,” Scott said with a heavy sigh. Stiles knew what he meant, they’d had the debate before. Scott wanted to let his mom in on Stiles’ infiltration method, knowing she’d probably want to use it too to get into to see Scott.

 

“I know buddy. If you really wanted to, I could,” Stiles offered. Scott thought it over for a moment, then sighed again and ran his fingers through his thick hair. Haircuts were offered on checkup days, but they never did a good job and Scott always ended up with a bowl cut when the other technicians did it. His mom was usually good enough so he didn’t end up looking like a shaggy dog. Perhaps they’d forgone it today in favor of giving him and Scott some time to catch up.

 

“No,” Scott said finally. “I couldn’t put her in that position. Plus if they ever found out they might fire her and separate us permanently. I…I can’t do that to her, Stiles.”

 

“I get it, I get it. She’d never master my ninja skills anyway.”

 

“Your _what?_ ”

 

“Never mind that. It’s not important anyway. Now that I have you here though, can I give you a message for Derek?” Stiles asked.

 

“Sure, what is it?”

 

“I had Lydia look into our little Laura problem. She got ahold of her file with the facility and Derek’s right, she was captured, about two months ago,” Stiles explained. Scott furrowed his eyebrows.

 

“What? No way. So how did that get hushed up? Shouldn’t you guys have known?”

 

“That’s what’s weird about this all, yes, we should have. So that means the matter _was_ hushed up, and that’s an even bigger problem we’ve got on our hands. _Why_ was the news of her capture suppressed? Who would do that, and what would be the point if it?” Stiles mused. Scott shook his head, as lost as Stiles felt.

 

“I don’t know man, but I’ll pass on the message to Derek.”

 

“Thanks. Oh, and one more thing. Oak Creek was listed on Laura’s file, tell him that. It’s the sanctuary she was transferred to, supposedly. Never heard of it, though.” Scott nodded.

 

“Okay, I’ll tell him.”

 

“How are you guys getting along, by the way? He seemed the scary axe murderer type when I encountered him so briefly. Is he still giving off those vibes? Has he tried axe murdering anyone in there yet?”

 

“What? No. No, I don’t think he’s like that. He’s intimidating…but I really don’t think he’s like that at all. I think he’s more bark than bite,” Scott said.

 

“I’ll ignore that _terrible_ pun buddy and I’ll also take your word for it. I may wanna help the guy but I’d rather not be in the same space as him like, _ever_ again,” Stiles said. Just remembering gave him a thrill of something close to what he felt popping in Saw V. Anticipation, maybe, but the visceral anticipation of fear and/or bodily harm.

 

The two whiled away the rest of their minutes comparing Derek Hale to various historically notable and/or famous fictional serial killers, trying to find which one his glare most reminded them of and all too soon a knock came at the door and Melissa slipped back inside.

 

“I’m sorry Stiles, but that’s all the time I can give you. I just double checked, it’s all clear back on the way up. You should be able find your way back okay, and if anyone stops you just tell them I brought you down here because I forgot my purse or something. Alright?” Stiles nodded, agreed he’d make it back just fine, and paused to say goodbye to Scott. To make it look convincing, they went in for a hug and Stiles even went as far as to rub his thumb across Scott’s shoulder. It may have been for show, but the two held on for just a touch longer than necessary to convince Melissa, and Stiles may or may not have felt his eyes prick. Maybe. You couldn’t prove anything. Then he pulled back.

 

“Good luck in there, buddy,” he said. Scott nodded, and then Stiles left. Melissa shut the door behind him.

 

\--

 

Scott watched Stiles go, a lump in his throat. He coughed it down, shaking himself out of it. He’d see Stiles again in a day or two, he was sure of it. Stiles hadn’t said anything, but Scott had heard his heart every second he had been in the room. Stiles was good at playing things down, easing the tension and brushing off the serious stuff, talents Scott was endlessly grateful for, but he could tell when Stiles was feeling things deeper than he let on. Scott only pretended not to notice.

 

Scott and his mother were left alone in the processing room, and she came closer to detach the probes from his skin.

 

“Your vitals are fine, you’re fit as a fiddle honey,” she declared him, picking up a clipboard from the counter behind her and flipping through the pages.

 

“One less thing to worry about, then,” Scott said with a little laugh. Melissa tried to echo it, but it fell flat. She sighed heavily.

 

“You sure you don’t feel even a little sick? Not a tickle in your throat maybe, or a limp? An ingrown toenail even?” she asked.

 

“No, mom, I swear I’m fine,” Scott said.

 

“Nothing? No earthly reason I can keep you here overnight?” she was desperate. Scott shook his head though.

 

“Seriously mom,” he said, putting on his most reassuring smile. “I’m _okay._ ” She reached up gingerly, smoothing his hair away from his face, letting her hand rest on his cheek. The two were quiet for a long while, until Scott could hear her heartbeat quicken and see the tale-tell signs of her becoming upset. Even before the change, Scott had been good at guessing when his mother was about to cry. He’d had enough experience to figure out the signs after his dad had left. Scott pulled her into a hug, squeezing her as tight as he dared. She squeezed back, as hard as she could, as if she never wanted to let him go.

 

\--

 

 

Derek was agitated, to say the least. Watching Scott be carted off that morning had taken every ounce of willpower not to jump the guards and start ripping throats, and that was just on principle. Not because he felt protective of the kid or anything.

 

Definitely not.

 

While definitely _not_ brooding and worrying about the younger werewolf, Derek paced in the clearing. So far he’d done his best to stay away from the commons outside the recreation hall, and only came in to get food when no one else was around. But Derek had nothing better to do than wait around the area until Scott was returned. It was taking longer than it should have, and Derek was growing more agitated by the second. He couldn’t smell Scott, hadn’t been able to pick up his scent since they’d whisked him off that morning, but he was waiting for it. The second Scott was back in the sanctuary Derek would be able to smell him, and the fact that he still couldn’t several hours after they should’ve been done with him was starting to worry him.

 

So Derek paced. Then he paced a bit more. Then he growled in frustration, sat down on the steps of the recreaction hall, and stayed there for several minutes before becoming too agitated to sit still and rose to pace some more. This pattern continued for some half an hour before he settled for sitting on the steps, elbows on his knees, glowering at the leaf-strewn dirt path the guards had disappeared down that morning. When he smelled another approaching him, he looked up briefly and only long enough to take in that it was another of the younger wolves. Derek didn’t know him, but he could smell Scott on him. They two must have been friends.

 

“Are you waiting for Scott?” the kid asked.

 

“No.”

 

“Sure, well, if you’re worried about him don’t be,” the kid continued regardless. Derek looked pointedly away from him. Without invitation the kid sat down, a couple steps higher and a few feet away from him.

 

“Checkups don’t take _that_ long,” Derek muttered.

 

“Scott’s do. His mom is a technician up there and she’s usually in charge of them. She likes keeping him there as long as she can,” the kid explained. Derek turned to look at him.

 

“His mom?” he echoed. The kid was leaning back, relaxed. He looked unconcerned, but when he met Derek’s glance there was something of an accusation there.

 

“Yes. His mother, she’s worked there a long time. Scott told you how he ended up in here, didn’t he?” the kid asked. Derek nodded.

 

“The assault…,” he let it trail. The kid gave him a hard look, nodded, then finally turned away from Derek to stare across the clearing.

 

“Why do you think Scott was down there? He was there bringing her dinner or her car keys or something. I don’t know, it doesn’t matter. Now he’s here and she’s there.”

 

“She stayed?”

 

“She won’t leave him. It’s the only way to see him now, so she’s not going anywhere. She’s really sweet though, if you get her during your checkups she’ll do them a lot more nicely than the others. And she might even do a decent job with your hair cut if you ask her to.” Derek honestly didn’t know what to say to that revelation, or if he even wanted to say anything to the kid. He sensed faint hostility there, and while he didn’t think the kid would attack him he sure didn’t like Derek. Why he bothered to tell all that to him Derek didn’t know. He took in the information and then they let the conversation drop. Both waited in silence for Scott’s return.

 

\--

 

Of course they didn’t give him a ride back. As soon as he was done and his mom couldn’t legally keep him any longer, Scott was sealed in the processing room and the interior door was locked. A couple minutes passed and then the outer door unlocked with several mechanical clunks and hisses, and when it swung open Scott stepped through back into the sanctuary. If he hesitate or waited, he knew the guards would come back and be less nice about asking him to leave. They’d have guns with them then, and cattle prods that gave a little extra jolt of upwards of five hundred thousand volts of electricity. Scott had no reason to stick around anyway, so he went as soon as the door was open and didn’t stay to watch it swing close and seal. He was a little cold without the shirt that they hadn’t returned to him, and barefoot as well but that hardly bothered him. It’d be a long walk back to his house, and all he wanted was to climb into his bunk and sleep away the after effects of the sedatives he was still feeling. He wasn’t much in a mood to talk to anyone, but he figured he might as well find Derek before crashing and tell him what Stiles had told him.

 

When he finally made his way back to the clearing, he was surprised to find Derek and Isaac sitting on the steps of the recreation building. He jogged over to them and they perked up when he met them.

 

“Hey Isaac, Derek,” he greeted with a small wave. Derek was eyeing him warily, and Scott recalled the last time he’d seen him.

 

“Thanks,” he said to Derek. A look of confusing swept Derek’s features.

 

“For what?” he asked.

 

“For this morning,” Scott said. Derek huffed, looked away.

 

“I didn’t do anything.”

 

“I meant thanks for getting all indignant on my behalf. But I was alright,” Scott reassured him. Derek looked like he was about to deny ever worrying about him in the first place, claim he didn’t care or anything like that. Derek pushed off the steps, standing.

 

“Good,” was all he said, and he made to leave.

 

“Wait, Derek-,” Scott caught him before he could disappear. “Stiles told me to let you know what he found out about your sister.” Derek turned.

 

“What, does he know where she is?” Scott made a face.

 

“Well, sort of. He said Lydia managed to find her file, and you were right. The Argents did capture her like you said.”

 

“Okay, and? Where is she now?”

 

“There’s only one thing written on her file, a name, Oak Creek.” Scott watched Derek’s face blanch. Derek’s eyes went wide and his mouth parted, but the shock lasted only a moment. It devolved quickly into confusion, eyebrows knit together. He turned away from Scott, shaking his head.

 

“ _No, that doesn't make any sense. Why_ there _?”_ he whispered, mostly to himself but Scott caught it.

 

He knew the name alright.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's a tad longer and I'm hoping this'll be the usual length from here on out. hope you enjoy, have fun, drop a comment. ta
> 
> chapter accompaniment this time is all is violent, all is bright by god is an astronaut

It was a rare day, a Sunday, which was not particularly rare itself (statistically speaking there were around 52 of them a year - Stiles had looked it up), but this Sunday was rare because it was Stiles’ day off, and he didn't have very many of those. Working at the sanctuary tended to be a full time thing, as they were often understaffed and most of the time they needed all hands on deck during the usually busy summer months. And Stiles didn’t often ask for days off - he liked working for the money and a day off meant no excuse to be at the facility to see Scott. But union laws were what they were and Stiles usually had a couple days off a month. That Sunday happened to be the first day off of his that month, and he was about to spend it doing something rather unpleasant.

 

Stiles had left his house early that morning. He usually slept in on days off, but something had been bugging him and he’d risen with the sun to get an early breakfast and sit around his room contemplating what he was planning on doing. Then, when it was a decent enough hour, he’d changed out of his pajamas and hopped into his jeep. Half an hour later he was almost to his destination, a row of nicer houses than his own in the subdivision a couple lights from his house. He turned down one road in particular and read the numbers carefully, as he hadn’t been there in a while. He remembered the general location but had looked up the address so he had an exact destination. When he came up to the one he was looking for he slowed his jeep, parked on the side of the road and turned the vehicle off.

 

He studied the house for a minute, hands on the wheel. This wasn’t a good idea. This was a very, very _bad_ idea but Stiles needed answers and this was the only place he could think of to look for them. A big part of him really didn’t want to do this, wanted to turn the key in the ignition, start the jeep up and drive away, but the thought of Scott and Derek and how he was the only one who could do this firmed his resolve.

 

With a deep sigh he shoved his mix feelings to the back of his mind and hopped out of the jeep. He walked up the driveway, up the path to the door and rang the Argent’s doorbell. Stiles hoped against hope, but it was indeed Allison Argent that answered the door.

 

“Stiles?” she said, after a beat. “What are you doing here?” And just like that, Stiles completely blanked on everything he’d been planning on saying to her. He’d rehearsed what he was going to ask, he’d been practicing over and over again on the drive over in his head. But standing there in front of her, every sentence of forced civility flew away into the wind.

 

There it went, gone.

 

“It’s been two years, Allison,” he blurted out, unable to keep the tone of accusation out of his voice. She took a step away from the door, a guarded expression falling over her face.

 

“What do you want, Stiles?” she asked, her reply carefully neutral.

 

“I want you to _care._ Scott’s been there two years and you haven’t been by _once,_ ” he said hotly.

 

“It’s not like I could see him even if I went, Stiles,” she said, her tone defensive, but hurt as well. Stiles glared at the Hunter, feeling his insides churn with emotions from the past, remembering the hate and betrayal he felt when Scott was taken from him. This isn’t what he wanted to say to her. Well, it was, and he’d been wanting to say it to her for a very long time now, but this wasn’t what he had come here today for. He couldn’t help it, though, and couldn’t stop himself from unloading two years of frustration with Scott’s ex-girlfriend. Ex, because after Scott’s accident she’d acted like she didn’t even care.

 

“There are phones, video chat, your family could swing visitation rights and you know it so don’t pull that shit with me, _Allison_ ,” he ground out. “It’s _Scott._ You two were in fucking ­ _love,_ for God’s sake. Or he was with you. Do you really just not give a shit about him anymore?" Now everything was coming out, and Stiles felt like he was on fire. "Do you realize how much he misses you? Do you have any idea what it’s _like_ for him in there?” Stiles’ voice raised in increments during his tirade, ending on a shout. Allison didn’t flinch, but her eyes narrowed a fraction, showing her stony expression was masking something else. She waited for Stiles to continue, and when he didn’t she looked down, away from him. She couldn’t hold his glare.

 

“Is that all you wanted to say to me?” she asked, impassive and made of steel. Stiles felt like he could punch something. Probably not her, because she was a goddamn ninja or something, training to be a hunter like her parents and she’d probably have him in a strangle hold before his fist could connect.

 

“How heartless are you?” he spat instead. Her face darkened, and it was like Stiles had cracked the dam.

 

“Heartless? _Heartless?_ You know what, screw you Stiles. Do you remember what else happened two years ago?” she practically shouted, flinging the door open and stepping out onto the threshold. “My _mother died._ You remember who killed her? The _Hales._ So yeah, I’ve got mixed _feelings_ about going up there, _Stiles,”_ she shot right back at him. “Now. Is _that_ all you wanted to say?” She kept her voice even, controlled, but Stiles could tell it was taking her a lot to do that.

 

Suddenly, he felt like more of an ass than he knew he had a right to be. Yes, he’d been angry with her for two years but he knew most of that anger wasn’t because of her. It was aimed more largely at the whole shit situation, and Allison’s distance wasn’t really what he wanted to yell and scream and shout at. Still, he wasn’t going to apologize for what he’d said because he had meant those things.

 

Well, maybe not the last part. Not entirely.

 

“No, no I’m didn't come here just to say that to you,” Stiles said after a moment. He shoved away anything else he wanted to throw at her, looked her in the eye. “I have something else I want to ask you.”

 

“I won’t promise I’ll answer. What do you want?”

 

“Fair enough. Were you there when they caught Derek or Laura?” She glared, a nerve touched, but Stiles wanted to know. Whether or not she’d answer was up to her, he just wanted to ask.

 

“No. I wasn’t. I’m not licensed yet to go on hunts. Won’t be until I turn eighteen in a year,” she said. That right there was another argument waiting to happen, and they both knew it. The ball was in Stiles’ court, metaphorically, and it was up to him if he wanted to get into that moral can of worms. Knowing she was still planning on following in her family’s footsteps… Stiles shoved the thought of it away. He had another question and getting into another debate wasn’t worth not getting it answered.

 

“Do you know where they transferred Laura?” She thought for a moment.

 

“No…I really don’t. I knew they weren’t sending her back to Beacon Hills, but all I heard is she was transferred elsewhere in state,” she said. Stiles nodded.

 

“One last question - does the name Oak Creek mean anything to you?” She shook her head.

 

“No. Why, should it?”

 

“I don’t know. Maybe not.”

 

“Is it another sanctuary? Why are you asking?” Stiles considered how much he wanted to tell her.

 

“No, I don’t think it is another sanctuary,” he said. “I Googled it last night, there’s no sanctuary in the US named Oak Creek. All it turned up was some town in Wisconsin, and I highly doubt that’s where-,” Stiles backtracked, catching himself rambling. Allison gave him a look.

 

“Where what? Where Laura was transferred?”

 

“No - it’s nothing, never mind. Forget I said anything, it’s not important,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “That’s all I wanted, catch you later.” He started to go.

 

“Stiles-,” Allison called after him. He turned halfway down the driveway.

 

“If…if you can, call him, or something, video chat or get a visit somehow. Can you tell him…I’m sorry?” Her eyebrows were drawn together, she looked conflicted, as if she hadn’t wanted to say that but it had just slipped out. Stiles thought about it.

 

“Are you?” he asked. Her face caved, and for all he’d been mad at her, he hated seeing her look like that.  

 

“I am. I really am. Stiles, I’m sorry. I just…I don’t know. I can’t, I can’t do it. I can’t see him. I can’t see him and not think-,” she faltered. In a way, Stiles understood. That didn’t stop him from being angry with her, but he understood how she felt.

 

“If I get the chance, yeah, I’ll let him know,” Stiles said. 

 

\--

 

Stiles didn’t spend the rest of his day off doing anything special. He’d gone back to his house after talking to Allison and whiled away the day surfing the web for anything else he could find on Oak Creek, whatever that was. It wasn’t a sanctuary, that was for certain. Stiles had checked the list of registered sanctuaries in the US. It wasn’t an international sanctuary either, because there weren’t any. Only the US had them, other countries dealt with werewolves differently. Most just threw them in prison along with their human inmates, and that was the nicer places. Here werewolves had at least a modicum of respect for their rights as citizens.

 

Regardless of the problems with the rest of the world, Stiles couldn’t find a listing for a sanctuary called Oak Creek, or even one in or near the town of the same name in Wisconsin. So he had to rule that out as a possible location for their missing Hale.  What Oak Creek could be, and what it had to do with Laura Hale was anyone’s guess at this point. The vast resource that was the internet had turned up nothing but goose eggs for Stiles.

 

So, frustrated with lack of headway in the case, Stiles did what Stiles did best with copious amounts of time and an unsolved question on his hands.

 

He made an investigation wall.

 

Granted, he didn’t have much to tack up yet, just a printout of Derek Hale’s mug shot he’d gotten from Lydia, a newspaper clipping of a story in their local rag about Derek’s capture, a picture of Laura from a similar article that was a few years old detailing their escape, and a sticky note with ‘ _Oak Creek???_ ’ written on it and circled in red.

 

Alright, so because that was all he had to work with at the moment, the endeavor didn’t end up taking much of his time beyond finding the cup of stick pins his dad had hidden so he’d stop marking up the drywall. The rest of the day stretched in front of Stiles, and he ended up wasting it away on video games, bad TV shows and junk food. Evening rolled around as he reached his sixth straight episode of Jersey Shore and the mind-numbing boredom was curtailed by his father’s arrival.

 

“Hey, kiddo, what’d you cook for dinner?” his dad called as he walked in, hung up his gear on the rack by the door, and shuffled into the living room. It was an agreement that whenever Stiles had a day off he’d get dinner together for the two of them, because his dad was usually in and out of work before him on Stiles’ work days and cooked on most evenings. But dinner a la Stiles usually meant something along the lines of watery macaroni, mashed potatoes the consistency of Play-Doh, or burnt toast. Stiles was a culinary genius with Top Ramen, though.

 

Tonight the fare consisted of delivery pizza, as Stiles wasn’t feeling particularly brave with the kitchen ware that night. Stiles said so and his dad made a grunting noise that was somewhere between relief and resignation. Stiles liked to imagine it was one of gratitude. Both of them knew Stiles couldn’t cook. His dad likes to pretend he could to not hurt his feelings, but the truth hung in the air like the awful smell that lingered every time Stiles tried to make anything involving eggs.

 

He could hear his dad rummage around in the kitchen for a paper plate, neither of them liked doing dishes, and grab a slice. His father walked to the couch and plopped down on the other end. The two passed a while in silence, following the life of celebrities and the ridiculous shit they got into. Stiles had moved into a nirvana state of not caring about how mind-numbing it was by that point, and the noise from the TV served only to lull him slowly to a sleepy state before he’d inevitably peel himself from the couch and trudge upstairs to bed. He had a good half hour to go before he’d make it to that point yet, so one more episode it was.

 

Thus an average evening passed in the Stilinski household. Until, that is, his dad cleared his throat like he was about to say something.

 

“So, uh. Melissa told me what she did the other day,” Stiles’ father said abruptly, breaking the silence. Stiles almost hadn’t registered he’d spoken at first, then when his addled mind processed his dad’s words, he sat up a little straighter.

 

“And what _did_ she do the other day?” Stiles asked, opting for playing dumb on the chance his father wasn’t talking about what Stiles sincerely hoped he wasn’t.

 

“About how she smuggled you downstairs to see Scott.” Stiles winced.

 

“Oh. That.”

 

“Yeah, _that._ ” A minute passed, Stiles was at a loss. His father was head of security after all, and that was a pretty big breach in, well, security.

 

“She couldn’t help it, she said she felt bad keeping it from me. So she told me.”

 

“…I see,” Stiles said cautiously.

 

“I’m not mad, and I’m not going to stop you. I know…how hard it’s been for you without Scott, so, just, be _careful,_ alright? That’s highly…you know, against the rules. Illegal. Very bad stuff, kid. Don’t get caught,” his dad warned.

 

“Thanks, pop. Wasn’t planning on it.”

 

“That’s my ass on the line now, my job. Watch yourself,” his dad tried to say sternly, but Stiles just cracked up.

 

“I’d thought for sure you’d bust a gasket if you knew, sorry we didn’t tell you sooner,” Stiles said, feeling a little guilty for hiding something much, _much_ worse from not only his dad but from Melissa as well. Would his dad be as understanding if Stiles admitted what else he’d been doing?

 

No. No he probably would not. Stiles planned on keeping that to himself for the foreseeable future, but he was glad his dad was okay with this little development.

 

“I’m gonna go collapse in my bed now,” Stiles said, standing. “Early shift tomorrow, and all that jazz.”

 

“Alright. Night, kiddo,” his father said as Stiles went.

 

\--

 

The staff were gathered in the employee break room in the morning for job assignments, the little over two dozen of them crammed around the small space as they waited for Finstock to finish the roster in his office. Lydia stood nearby Stiles, though her presence at these meetings was perfunctory at best. She never worked anything other than reception desk. _Ever_. Stiles figured she must have had Finstock bribed off somehow.

 

Finally, their boss emerged from his cubbyhole of an office and flipped through the list on his clip board.

 

“Alright kiddies, job assignment time. I’m sure you’re all excited, but before I begin, a few announcements. The upstairs girl’s bathroom is out of order, you _don’t_ wanna knowwhy. Stay out of there, keep guests away from it. Should have a guy come down later today to take a look, and boy I _do not_ envy him that job. Whew. Anyway. Ah, let’s see here, we’ve got an inventory shipment due later this week for the gift shop so someone’s gotta go through all that. And we’ve got a few boxes of supplies that need to be carted downstairs. Volunteers’ll get a temporary pass for the elevator,” at this, Stiles perked up, “Put your hand down Greenberg, you’re not stepping one _foot_ downstairs. Not again, head technician says you’re banned for _life-,”_ Stiles took the chance to raise his hand. Finstock saw him. “Fine, Stilinski it is. Come see me on your break. Now, one last thing - no more sex in the left wing janitor’s closet. I swear to god, if I catch any more of you in there - keep it in your pants. Please. For my sanity, and for your health. C’mon guys, do you even know what’s been in there? Be reasonable. Alright, that’s it,” Finstock ended on that pleasant note.

 

Then, he started unceremoniously reading off names and calling out jobs, and once he started employees began trickling out when theirs came up. It was alphabetical, so Stiles had a bit of a wait. Lydia did too, but she didn’t look interested in a conversation with him at the moment and he wasn’t sure he wanted to try and tell her what Allison had told him just yet. He wasn’t sure what she and Allison’s relationship was like these days, as they had once been pretty close. He never pressed for details, and hadn’t asked Lydia to go to Allison in his stead.

 

Lydia’s name was called for reception desk before he could make up his mind, so there went that opportunity. Eventually, after nearly half the others had gone, it was Stiles’ turn.

 

“Stilinski - tours,” Finstock called.

 

“ _What?_ ” was Stiles’ knee-jerk response. Finstock looked up from his clipboard, wicked smile in place.

 

“It’s the first. You’ve got a whole month of reports to rack up, bucko,” Finstock said, then made a ‘scram’ gesture with his hand. Stiles seethed, mood plummeting. This was just fucking _perfect._

 

\--

 

Stiles wanted to beat his head into the concrete wall instead of simply standing there leaning up against it. He stood near enough the sign that said ‘ _Tours: gather here’_ to see if and when there was a large enough group gathered there for him to swoop in and whisk them off on a learning adventure, but thus far there weren’t any takers.

 

Finstock, the asshole. Stiles should’ve kept track of his days in the gift shop, but he hadn’t felt there’d been that many of them. The sweet time, he should’ve cherished it more. How he longed for the sweet blissful carefreeness of _not being on tour duty._

Maybe if he hid the sign he wouldn’t have to take any groups that day. It didn’t look like there was anyone coming anyway, and some days it was like this. Maybe, if the universe chose to smile down upon him that particular Monday, which was highly unlikely given it was a _Monday,_ maybe no one would show up at all and he could spend the day dicking around and getting paid for doing nothing. Oh, that would piss Finstock off royally.

 

As he was lost in the beautiful imagery that was a very angry Finstock and a guide-free day for him, Stiles didn’t notice Lydia walk up to him. Still wasn’t aware of her, not until she grabbed one of his arms and yanked him out of his reverie.

 

“ _Ow,_ Lydia - _what-,”_ he tried to ask as he was towed along, but she shushed him and moved quickly and all he could do was stumble to try and keep up with her. She led him down the corridor from the reception desk, down the left hall past a couple conference rooms that hardly saw use outside of school field trip presentations, and to the janitor’s closet across from the men’s bathroom. She opened the door, shoved him inside and was quick to close it behind them.

 

“I don’t want to hear a _word_ about where we are, we are not here for _that._ So you can erase that little bit of hope you have for knowing what my chap-stick tastes like,” Lydia said without hesitation, effectively cutting off exactly what Stiles was totally thinking about. He couldn’t help it, really. This was a well-known make out spot. Stiles had many a fantasy about a situation much like this, being in here with Lydia, but he honestly never thought any of them were going to play out.

 

“Not thinking about that, I swear. You need to tell me something away from other ears, right?” he asked. She nodded.

 

“Yes, it’s about what you asked me to look into. I did,” she said.

 

“I did a little too,” Stiles replied. “I looked up Oak Creek, and there-,”

 

“There _is no_ Oak Creek sanctuary, yes, I know. But that’s not all I found out,” she cut him off and continued. “It took me and Danny a while and I owe him _big_ time for helping me, but we were able to pull a couple other files from the database. More that were tagged with Oak Creek.” Stiles looked at her.

 

“Alright, so what is it? Where is it? And which other files?” Her expression darkened. There was something tight about her lips that made unbidden images rise to his mind. Bad ones, ones of people in doctor’s coats who had come to tell him and his father his mother’s diagnosis. Stiles got the feeling he wasn’t going to like what Lydia was about to tell him. She took a deep, steadying breath.

 

“There were somewhere under a dozen names connected to Oak Creek, most of them I didn’t recognize. But two of them, not including Laura Hale, were Peter Hale and…,” she trailed. Her eyes closed and she pressed her lips together. She opened her eyes, and looked right into Stiles.

 

“And Jackson Whittemore,” she finished.

 

“Lydia…,” he whispered. Stiles felt like an ice cube had dropped down his esophagus and into his stomach, and instead of melting it was sitting there growing colder and colder and chilling his insides. Lydia nodded solemnly, letting her gaze drop. Stiles was quiet. He almost wanted to reach out, touch her somehow, hug her. Not because they were in the make out janitor’s closet, but because he genuinely wanted to comfort her. Her tough exterior was cracking, he could see tears building in her eyes, but she quickly wiped them away. No tears were about to ruin her makeup.

 

“I know, I’m fine. Concentrate. If those two are listed in connection that place, it can’t mean many things.”

 

“So it’s a graveyard?” Stiles said quietly.

 

“Or something like it. A place to keep the dead. Jackson…and Peter, they both died two years ago. And that’s when that name was put on their files. That’s what Oak Creek is, that’s all it can be,” she said, voice only shaking a little. Stiles envied her the ability to keep so business-like. He knew he wouldn’t be talking about the death of his ex boyfriend at the hands of rampaging werewolves so casually.

 

Well. Not that he had any ex-boyfriends. Or exes of any kind, really. Anyway.

 

Jackson. Focus. Jackson. If Jackson and Peter Hale were on that list, it could only mean one thing.

 

Peter Hale had been one of the Hales killed in the Hale assault, that much was common knowledge. Jackson Whittemore had been pretty much in the same boat as Scott that night two years ago, but had been the less lucky one of the two. He hadn’t survived the bite, which had killed him mere hours later. Stiles had never particularly liked the guy, in fact had always detested him on principle for being the dude Lydia Martin was dating, but…no one deserved to go like that. And it killed him to see how clearly Lydia still wasn’t over it. He hurt for her, he really did.

 

“So Laura…,” he didn’t want to be the one to say it. And he didn’t want to be the one who would have to tell Derek, either, but he knew it would have to be him. Lydia met his eyes again.

 

“She is, in all likelihood, dead.”

 

“Well, that-,” and before Stiles could express exactly what that was, the door to the janitor’s closet was flung open.

 

“Gotcha! What the hell - _Stilinski?”_ Finstock stood at the door, looking at Stiles and then at Lydia. Lydia rolled her eyes and pushed Stiles away, even though he hadn’t been all that close to him to begin with. He stumbled and nearly tripped over a mop.

 

“Oh please. You think _I_ would? With _him?”_ Lydia said. Finstock looked at Stiles, shrugged.

 

“Good point.”

 

“Oh _come on_ ,” Stiles groaned.

 

“Out, both of you,” Finstock ordered. “Whatever you were doing in there, I don’t want to know. Back to work. And Stilinski, don’t forget about your little errand.” Stiles nodded, then he and Lydia marched back to their stations as told. Stiles was frankly startled at the lack of a tirade from Finstock, but thanked his lucky stars and didn’t question it.

 

\--

 

Once his lunch break rolled around Stiles did as bidden and found Finstock in his office to get a temporary keycard and the boxes he needed to cart to the lower levels. On the keycard was printed a four digit code that would get him downstairs, different from the one he usually used, and by his guess probably a temporary one that wouldn’t work after a short time period. Finstock didn’t specify how long he had to complete the task, so once Stiles was downstairs and had checked in the stack of boxes with a technician who disappeared shortly thereafter, he figured it was a good a time as any to go see Scott and tell him what he’d learned.

 

Ten minutes later Stiles was inside the walls, plodding along down the path that would lead him to his friend.

 

\--

 

The recreation hall was deserted when he got there, so Stiles tried Scott’s house next. Stiles had been there once or twice before, but the place was small and the two of them didn’t usually hang out there when Stiles visited. It was a squat, square concrete building with one tiny window and an ugly metal door. The place was hardly big enough for a single occupant, but Scott told him it wasn’t an uncomfortable arrangement. Scott’s was the fifth in a row of twenty or so similar buildings, and a sidewalk ran along the row and branched off to connect to each door. Another few rows of the same setup continued behind Scott’s house, which was on the very first row. These housing units sat directly across the wide clearing from the rec hall.

 

When he reached Scott’s door he knocked and a few moments later it opened. Scott greeted him with a sunny smile.

 

“Hey,” Stiles greeted in return in a decidedly less sunny manner. “We need to talk.”

 

“Alright. Just let me grab some shoes,” Scott said, turning back inside and returning a moment later with some sneakers on. He had on a pair of dark grey sweatpants and simple black t-shirt. The clothing options weren’t all that diverse for the sanctuary inhabitants, and tended towards military-esque garb. Scott shut his door behind them, and the pair ambled up the sidewalk away from his house. They talked as they walked. Stiles told him everything he had found out from research and from Lydia.

 

“Oh, shit,” was all Scott could say. Then a strange look came over his face.

 

“What is it?”

 

“Well…I asked Derek if he knew the name, when you first told me it,” Scott said.

 

“Did he know the place? What’d he say?”

 

“Nothing,” Scott said. “He wouldn’t talk to me, he got this weird look on his face like he knew the place and it was something bad, but he wouldn’t say anything. Just told me to shut up about it and go away.”

 

“Real people person, ain’t he?”

 

“He’s not so bad,” Scott said. Stiles frowned at this new revelation. Not at that Derek wasn’t so bad, but that Derek knew enough about this Oak Creek place to be upset hearing the name.

 

“Then he knows what Oak Creek is. And he knows it can’t be anything good.”

 

“But what _is_ it? You really think it’s some kind of crematorium?” Scott asked.

 

“Only one way to find out,” Stiles said, strongly regretting what he was about to do.

 

\--

 

Scott was a little apprehensive about taking Stiles to talk to Derek, more than a little, he flat out refused initially. (“No way man, I don’t even know if he likes humans. He might eat you!” was Scott’s argument, despite the fact that Stiles had survived his last encounter unscathed.) But Stiles had logic and persistence on his side and Scott caved eventually. Scott led him deeper into the woods, down a path that saw little use and up to a large abandoned-looking concrete house. It was two stories, much larger than the cubicle that Scott called home, and Stiles knew the sanctuary was peppered with a few of these things. Why Derek felt he needed all the extra space and lived alone up here, Stiles couldn’t guess. Scott told Stiles to wait at the base of the porch steps while he went up to knock on the door.

 

“You sure he’s here?” Stiles called.

 

“Yeah, I can smell him,” Scott called back. Right as he said it, the door swung open inward.

 

“That was a little rude,” Derek said. Scott jumped back, away from the door. Derek looked at Scott, then glared at Stiles. “What do you two want?”

 

“We, uh-,” Scott began, but Stiles didn’t wait for him to stammer out their story. Stiles marched up the steps despite Scott’s frantic motioning for him to stay back. He stopped just a few feet from Derek, not bothering to be intimidated by the werewolf. If Derek hated humans enough to disembowel Stiles on sight, he would’ve done so before.

 

“We want to know what you know about Oak Creek. I had some help looking into it, and we found more names. It mentioned a few other people we knew for a fact were dead, along with your sister,” Stiles said. Derek looked momentarily taken aback, then his face settled into the near permanent scowl he always seemed to wear.

 

“Dead? Who else was there?” Derek asked.

 

“A kid named Jackson, he was our age and he got caught up in the assault like Scott, but he didn’t survive being bitten,” Stiles said, then he debated how much he wanted to say. He figured he might as well tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Derek deserved that much. “And Peter Hale.”

 

“That’s…not possible,” Derek said frankly, turning away from them. His stony expression didn’t give much else away.

 

“So,” Stiles pressed tentatively, “What is it? Is it like a burial place or something?”

 

“What, no, it’s-,” Derek looked up. Then, before he continued he looked at Scott. His glare resurfaced. “I thought I told you to forget about this.”

 

“Well, yeah but-,” Scott started again, but Stiles interjected.

 

“Why would we do that? Just when we were getting somewhere?” Derek turned to him.

 

“This isn’t some Scooby-Doo mystery, Stiles. Let it go,” Derek commanded.

 

“Fine, if you think that's what this is, I'll keep up with Scooby-doo puns, as painful and corny as they are, and demand to know why. Or are you really old man Jenkins behind that scary sourwolf mask? Trying to scare us meddlin’ kids off some dark secret?” Derek looked frankly confounded trying to keep up with Stiles’ tirade, and then the scowl settled back in place.

 

“I don’t need to explain why. Just do it, forget about Oak Creek. It doesn’t concern you,” Derek said. Stiles knew the comment was probably directed at the pair of them, but he couldn’t help feel like Derek had singled him out. Stiles met his eyes, glared right back.

 

“And why the hell not?” he demanded. Derek’s expression was darkening. Not with rage, but with frustration.

 

“Because-,” he started, sounding dangerously high-schoolish. “ _Why_ do you even care so much? What does any of this matter to you?” he deflected the question.

 

“Because I’m trying to _help,_ Derek. And I’m the only one in any kind of position to help you figure this out. I’m doing this because I want to so _get over it_ and tell us what you know,” Stiles said.

 

Ok so maybe standing up to the big scary werewolf wasn’t the smartest of moves, but after a tense moment Derek’s glare lessened to a degree and he didn’t look about ready to shift and tear Stiles’ throat out for pushing him. He seemed to be deliberating, and looked between Scott and Stiles. Then he backed up into the house and held the door open.

 

“In,” he ordered. “I’ll tell you what I know.” Scott and Stiles did as told, and Derek shut the door behind them. Stiles walked in ahead of Scott, down the narrow hall. The place was well lit, if totally devoid of furniture. They passed a dining room empty of a table or chairs, a stair case that led to a second floor and a kitchen that looked like it hadn’t seen use in years. Was Derek really living there? _Why_? At the end of the hall was an archway leading to the room Derek was directing them to. A living room, of sorts. It had a run down-looking sofa and two wood chairs, which was more furniture than anywhere else in the house so far. The boys took the sofa and Derek sat down in one of the chair across from them. The sofa was every bit as uncomfortable as it looked. Imagine solid wood with a yard of fabric over it and you'll get the idea.

 

“Lay it on us,” Stiles said. Derek gave him a look that Stiles was coming to realize he reserved just for Stiles. He hadn’t yet seen Derek glare at Scott quite like that. Derek sighed and started.

 

“Oak Creek isn’t a burial ground, not to my knowledge. All I know is that there was a sanctuary back in the sixties called Oak Creek. It wasn’t too far from here, it was one of the first built actually,” he said. Stiles leaned forward on the couch.

 

“A sanctuary? _Was_ a sanctuary? What happened to it?” he asked.

 

“I’m getting to that. Shut up,” Derek growled.

 

“Okay, okay. I’ll stay quiet,” Stiles promised, knowing full well he probably wouldn’t. Derek continued.

 

“It was closed down after a certain… _incident_ three years after being built. It was demolished shortly after, scrapped completely. To my knowledge there’s nothing left there so none of this makes any sense. Laura can’t be there, nor can Peter or your other friend.” Stiles looked at Scott, who looked back at Stiles with a mirrored look of confusion.

 

“There’s more to the story than that, isn’t there?” Scott asked. Derek didn’t look up from where he was staring at the floor.

 

“Derek,” Stiles said softly. “What happened there?” There was a pause, then Derek stood and crossed his arms over his chest.

 

“There weren’t many sanctuaries around in the early days, but there were a lot more of _us._ They didn’t have enough room to house us after the sanctuaries were implemented, so werewolves were crammed into sanctuaries far exceeding capacity all over the country. Oak Creek was no bigger than Beacon Hills, but there were over two hundred wolves living there by the time it closed. There was no space for any of them, conditions were terrible and their meager resources were siphoned off by corrupt facility managers looking to pad their pockets at the expense of the inhabitants. The second a round of pneumonia hit, inhabitants dropped like flies and no one gave a damn. Rioting started. So many angry wolves stormed the gates and were gunned down mercilessly. Silver, wolfsbane, they didn’t stand a chance. Nearly all of them were killed, only a handful were left and transferred elsewhere,” he said, and there was a beat of stunned silence before Stiles could think of anything to say to that.

 

“Holy _shit_ -,” he breathed. “But wait - how did anyone cover that up? That would’ve been all over the news, a fucking _massacre -_ shit, that’s so fucking horrible-,” he couldn’t form a coherent thought beyond that. He was infuriated, it was all wrong. He didn’t want to believe people could be capable of that, but a burning, angry gut feeling told him it was true. Derek let out a hollow laugh.

 

“The government is good at hiding things when it wants to. It helps that anyone who would want the truth told was either dead or locked away in a sanctuary for life. That’s how I know about it, there was an older wolf in here when I was a kid who was there when it happened,” he said. Stiles wanted to punch something, to scream at someone, to hurt something… but none of that would change what happened nearly fifty years ago. It didn’t horrify him any less, though. Scott sat silent on the couch beside Stiles, but the way his fist was curled tight told Stiles he wasn’t taking the story much better. _Focus._ There were more important things to be thinking about than just how much Stiles hated people. It was hard, but he took a deep breath and got his mind back on the problem at hand.

 

“So Laura isn’t there, that’s not possible,” Stiles confirmed. Derek turned back around, arms dropping to his side. He sat back down, leaning against the back of the chair.

 

“No. But you’re welcome to go check out the acres of woods where it used to be. It’s just a few miles out of town; there are still a couple broken foundations where the buildings used to be. You can’t miss it.” Derek was being sardonic, but Stiles didn’t think that was a bad idea. Besides, he was curious. He’d seen the crumbled buildings off the interstate before, he’d always wondered what they were.

 

“I might do that, actually. It can’t hurt,” he said, then lapsed into thoughtful silence.

 

“Look,” Derek said, catching his attention. “I appreciate all you’ve done so far, but it’s a dead end. Laura isn’t at Oak Creek. No one is, if Peter’s listed there too and your dead friend, then it’s probably a cover up. In all likelihood, Laura’s dead. They’re just covering their tracks. Like goddamn _always._ ”

 

“Hey now, don’t say that. She could still be out there somewhere,” Stiles offered, but he knew there was no comfort in those words. Derek certainly didn’t look comforted.

 

“In any case, that’s why I said drop it. Anything short of going up to the Argents themselves and asking nicely what they did with my sister, there’s nothing for it. Whoever took my sister probably won’t take kindly to a teenager poking around. So drop it,” Derek said, all gruff again like talking about how his sister might have been unjustly murdered didn’t faze him. Just an average day in the life of Derek Hale. Stiles really couldn’t blame him for acting like it.

 

“Then… you’re just giving up?” Scott asked, finally rejoining the conversation.

 

“What else can I do?” Derek replied. “Even if I knew what happened to Laura, it wouldn’t make much of a difference to anything besides my own personal feelings. I can’t help her from here if she needs me, I can mourn her in my own way if she’s dead but…I’m not willing to ask someone else to risk themselves like that. Just to know for sure, it’s not worth it,” Derek said, looking pointedly at Stiles.

 

So, that’s what his hesitation was about. Stiles honestly felt a little touched at his concern.

 

“Well, that sounds like a personal problem,” Stiles said, standing up and looking down at Derek. “Just because you’re not willing to ask me to risk my neck to help you, doesn’t mean I don’t want to. Or that I’m not going to. Because I’m totally going to.”

 

“Stiles - what are you planning?” Scott asked cautiously. He knew that tone, that was the ‘I’m about to do something stupid’ tone. It was never a good tone.

 

“No idea,” Stiles said confidently. “But whatever it is it will be an awesome plan, I guarantee it.”

 

“ _Why_?” was the only thing Derek could say. Stiles locked eyes with his.

 

“Why _not_?”

 

\--

 

Once Stiles was gone, back in the facility and spending the rest of his work day ushering tourists around with mundane facts and figures and blah blah _who cares_ information, in the back of his mind he was turning their little puzzle over and over again. Derek had been right, Oak Creek was a dead end clue, but not one Stiles wouldn’t see through to the end regardless. It couldn’t hurt checking out the old site, anyway.

 

So, as the day wore on Stiles considered things. And Stiles planned. 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its long and it's late forgive me. chapter accompaniment this time is wolf in winter, by ali project. have fun, comments give me life.

Stiles sat on the information Derek had given him for a couple of days, debating his next move. He didn’t go back into the sanctuary to see either Scott or Derek, but he couldn't wait for the dice to roll for him to take the next step. So he did what everyone does when they're out of options: Go to the internet and let it find it for you. He tried sites he hadn’t thought of before, narrowing down public records for lands set aside for sanctuary use, and see where the needle was in this invisible haystack. After some more extensive digging involving an all-nighter and a truly gargantuan amount of Red Bull making his fingers buzz from a caffeine high, Stiles managed to find just one document that could potentially verify Derek’s story. A lot outside of town popped up on a listing, something to do with deforesting permits, but however obscure it was linked to sanctuary usage in the time frame Derek had told them about. This small bit of information gave Derek’s story a little credibility after all. Not that he doubted the guy, Stiles just had a very thorough mind for investigation is all.

 

All he had to show for that effort was a printout of the list, but he tacked it up on his wall regardless.

 

He was reluctant to update Lydia for a reason he couldn’t quite put a finger on, but eventually he decided to tell her. It seemed only right, after she had done for him so far.

 

The day he made up his mind to tell her, he grabbed her the first chance he got. After an unusually busy morning and six full tour groups, that didn’t end up being until his lunch break. She was still technically on duty but he told her it was important and she got one of the other girls on duty to cover for her. She joined him upstairs in the café and sat down across the table from him.

 

“Stiles what the _Hell_ is going on,”? she asked, leaning forward towards him. Stiles couldn’t keep still, his leg was unconsciously tapping a mile a minute under the table.

 

“Oak Creek, I found out what it was,” he replied, keeping his voice low so no one else could hear their conversation. And then he told her. When he’d finished reiterating everything Derek had told him, she sat back, eyebrows drawn. She took it a lot less hotly than Stiles had, there were no violent outbursts of indignant rage but she did look a little unsettled.

 

“How did you find all this out?” was the first thing she asked. Stiles blanked.

 

“Um... The internet?” He wasn't _exactly_ lying.

 

“You told me there was nothing on an Oak Creek, anywhere,” she replied, her look turning into one of suspicion.

 

“I, uh... I made use of _not entirely legal methods,_ to get this information,” Stiles said. At least that was the truth.

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

“So keep it on the down low, alright?” Lydia didn’t look satisfied, but let it go.

 

“So what could that have to do with Jackson?” Lydia asked. “Or Laura,” she tacked on after.

 

“I’m not sure yet,” Stiles admitted. “That’s why I’m planning on going there to find out.”

 

“Stiles that’s crazy, there’s nothing there. I must have passed that lot a hundred times going out to the next town over to shop. There’s nothing but a field and a couple of run down, decrepid buildings,” she said.

 

“But maybe-,” he started, but she cut him off.

 

“Look, I’m not saying don’t go double check, but there’s another explanation to this Oak Creek thing that you should be considering,” Lydia said.

 

“And what’s that?” Lydia leaned closer again, elbows on the table. She was serious.

 

“Maybe it’s a euphemism. Maybe Oak Creek is the name they use on files to stand for _killed._ Jackson’s dead, Peter Hale is dead. The most likely story here is that they’re using the name of an old sanctuary to cover up illegal executions, explaining them away as transfers to a fictitious sanctuary.” Stiles’ jittering stopped, he felt like everything come to a standstill.

 

She had a point, and everything they’d uncovered to that point seemed to fit that theory. Derek had echoed the same thought too, but something in Stiles didn’t want to accept just that. He had to know that was truly the answer, he had to have some concrete undeniable evidence that there weren’t any other leads to pursue. He wasn’t blindly optimistic about finding anything at the old site, however. As chilling as the thought of the cover up theory was, Stiles wouldn’t put it past the people in charge of Beacon Hills. It was a strong theory, a plausible one and it left them one last question.

 

“So what are we going to do about it, if that’s the case?” Stiles asked. Lydia looked at him.

 

“What _can_ we do?” Lydia asked.

 

They were kids, minimum wage employees working on the sanctuary’s tourism floor. Even with this revelation, what _could_ they do? They didn’t have any evidence, all they had was a name, a story that’d been dead fifty years and a theory. Who would they go to even if they _did_ have some proof? They had no idea who was involved. No idea how high it went, who was authorizing any of it, or if Lydia’s conjecture was even the truth.

 

As Stiles took inventory of his thoughts and of the case at hand, it dawned on him how futile his little quest really was. Even if he had the answers, if he found out what was happening, if he found out who was behind it, what could he possibly do to stop it?

 

Not a damn thing.

 

The weight of the reality of his situation settled on him, and Stiles felt a hollow sense of helplessness take root in his gut.

 

“Look,” Lydia said finally, breaking the silence. “Maybe we should just drop this. It’s ugly and wrong and this probably only gets worse if we keep digging. And if we get to that point there’s no telling who might not like a couple of kids digging around this, or what they’ll be willing to do to stop us. I’m not saying it’s not important and…and I did want to see this through because Jackson’s name was on that list, but these are _dangerous people,_ Stiles. How important is this to you in the long run?” she asked quietly.

 

Stiles thought about that question, but for the life of him he couldn’t think of a coherent answer. All he seemed to be able to think of was Derek’s face, and somehow it made the sense of helplessness and all of his doubts vanish completely. Just seeing the werewolf's face change from a glare that was one notch away from being full transformed, to lighting up at the thought at least one person in his family was still alive gave him something to fight for.

 

“More important than anything else to me.”

 

Lydia didn’t say anything to that. She excused herself shortly thereafter to get back to her station downstairs, and Stiles sat in silence for the duration of his lunch period. Then after his half hour ticked away, he picked himself up and went back to work.

 

\--

 

Derek found two of the younger wolves on the basketball court playing one on one. He’d been in the recreation hall looking for them, and figured this was the only other place they’d be. He hadn’t seen the other two anywhere, but he didn’t know as much about their habits. He’d been around the clearing enough to smell that Scott and Isaac frequented the courts. The girl and the other black boy, however, he’d only really smelled around the movie room inside the hall and not many other places besides each of their individual living quarters. Their scents crossed over those two places so much he had trouble distinguishing which belonged to which of them, but he didn’t dwell too much on that.

 

When he found Scott and the other kid Isaac, they were playing better than any NBA player ever could dream of but something looked off about them. Scott and Isaac didn’t look like their hearts were in it, even as Scott faded away and made an impressive layup. Isaac didn’t move to defend, didn’t even try to block him. Scott made the basket and the ball bounced away, coming to a stop at Derek’s feet. He picked up the ball and tossed it back to Scott.

 

“Nice shot,” he said, and Scott only looked up momentarily to catch the pass.

 

“Thanks,” Scott said. Isaac stood watching the pair, but he wasn’t focused on them. Something hung heavy in the air between them. Derek decided to get right to the point, then.

 

“Full moon is tonight,” he said. The look on Scott’s faced hardened. Isaac didn’t react.

 

“Yeah, so?” Isaac replied in a forced neutral tone.

 

“Neither of you have ever been able to control your shifts on full moons, have you?” Derek probed. Derek figured it would be a touchy subject, but he had a point to make.  Scott shot an uncomfortable glance to Isaac, then looked at Derek.

 

“No.”

 

“Want me to show you how?” Derek asked.

 

\--

 

Ten minutes later Derek stood facing Scott and Isaac, as well as the other two younger wolves Erica and Boyd. They’d come on Scott’s request, but Derek could tell neither of them trusted him the way Scott seemed to. Isaac he still couldn’t quite read beyond the careful neutrality the boy projected. They were out in the woods, in a small clearing surrounded by low hanging trees. The teens stood in a loose semicircle around him, waiting for him to speak.

 

“Have any of you ever tried shifting outside of the full moon?” Derek asked. They looked around at each other.

 

“No,” Erica was the one to respond.

 

“Why?”

 

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because it’s horribly painful, or maybe it’s the loss of control, turning into a rabid animal, something like that,” came her barbed reply.

 

“What if I told you it didn’t have to be?” he said, looking at each of them.

 

“What do you mean by that?” asked the tall black boy, Boyd.

 

“You four were bitten, you weren’t born with it. I know being bitten and turned that way is a horrible experience, one I can’t begin to imagine. I was born what I am, the shift was painful for me at first too but I had a lifetime to overcome it. To control it. Some of you here have been werewolves less than two years, and that’s not long enough to be comfortable with it yet, I know. But this shift doesn’t have to be so much of a bad experience for you, I promise,” Derek said.

 

“What’s it like for you?” Scott spoke up. After a moment of thought, Derek responded.

 

“It’s freedom,” he said. “When I’m in my wolf form I’m faster, I can see, hear, smell better than any human. I’m strong, I can fight and I can _run._ The shift gives me freedom, but for you it’s pain. It shouldn’t be like that.”

 

“But what if that’s all it’ll ever be for us?” Erica asked. “We weren’t born like this, we were bitten. We were infected with this, changed. We were never supposed to be like this.” She was getting angry, Derek could see. But the anger wasn’t really directed at him.

 

“Whatever you were, you aren’t anymore. You’re a werewolf, there’s no changing that. You can’t go back. If you keep spending so much time and energy denying that part of yourself, yes, it’ll be painful and hard and you’ll never be at peace,” Derek said. Her eyes hardened. “But if you accept it, embrace it, it can be an amazing gift.”

 

“So what are you proposing, exactly?” Isaac asked. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he was eyeing Derek sceptically.

 

“Are any of you able to shift at will?” he asked. Isaac shook his head, so did Erica and Boyd. Derek looked to Scott.

 

“I tried, once. I couldn’t. I can’t feel it coming on until the full moon,” Scott said.

 

“The moon rises in a few hours, so you all should be feeling it now. Try to focus on the instinct to change, see if you can feel that pull.” Scott was the only one that closed his eyes, the others watched him intently but didn’t seem interested in trying it themselves. Scott visibly shuddered.

 

“It’s there, but _ugh_. I don’t like it. I hate that feeling,” he said, eyes still pinched shut.

 

“What does it feel like?” Derek asked, walking closer to Scott.

 

“It feels like I’m about to lose control, like something terrible is about to happen,” Scott said. Then he groaned, and doubled over. The others backed away but Derek moved closer, kneeling down. Derek could sense his pain, and smell his fear but made no show of it.

 

“ _Make it stop,”_ Scott cried out between clenched teeth, his breathing growing more rapid and feral. Derek put a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

 

“Try to relax,” he urged, and Scott’s head snapped up. His eyes were glowing golden, and Derek could see his canines growing elongated and pushing out. His jaw began to spasm, pulling even more off to the side than it usually was. He looked like he was in pain, but Derek was sure that it was coming from how hard Scott was fighting the shift.

 

“What are you doing to him?” Isaac stood and stalked over, but Derek put a hand up to keep him away.

 

“Scott, breathe. Try to stop fighting the shift. Don’t think about staying human. Let the instinct take over and calm down,” Derek urged, keeping his grip tight on the younger werewolf. Derek could see Scott’s hands at his sides flexing and claws growing from the tips of his fingers. His body hadn’t started the shift yet, but his spine was curving in a way that Derek knew meant it wasn’t far off. Scott’s breathing was labored, but Derek could tell he was trying to keep it steady.

 

“Derek, I think he’s about to shift,” Erica warned him.

 

“Breathe, Scott. The key is to breathe. Let go of your fear of the shift and breathe,” Derek said. The tension gradually eased out of Scott’s shoulders, his breathing calmed down and after a few more beats Scott slumped forward. Derek caught his other shoulder and kept him upright, and when Scott looked up he was covered in a light sheen of sweat but he was still human.

 

“I-I did it,” he stammered. Derek helped him over to a fallen tree and sat him down.

 

“You were able to back out of the shift, yes. You can keep it at bay for a while by focusing on your breathing and keeping your heart rate down. It naturally spikes when the urge to shift takes over and your body shoots full of adrenaline. If you actively try to fight it you’re just putting unnecessary strain on your body, which is then forced to undergo the shift accelerated by the stress of fighting it,” Derek tried to explain. Scott looked up at him, eyebrows drawn.

 

“What?” came from Isaac.

 

“It’s like the tide. Try to fight it and you’ll just be pulled under quicker. Relax and let it pull you, you’ll make it to shore. More clear?” Derek rephrased. After a moment Scott nodded.

 

“I guess that makes sense,” the teenager said. Derek backed away once Scott looked like he was alright. He turned to the other three.

 

“Now, that little trick might help right now, but it’ll take a lot more to keep the shift controlled during the full moon. You won’t learn anything to help you stay in control tonight, but I’m going to show you how to make the shift less painful. Once it hits tonight I’ll take you guys on a run, and I’ll show you what it’s like to run as a pack.”

 

\--

 

It was Lydia’s turn to show up unexpectedly and yank him away from his work later that afternoon. With little explanation she led him away from his post and was deaf to his protests as she dragged him down the corridor from the entry way, past the conference rooms and the janitor’s closet to the security station. Danny was waiting outside the door, arms crossed over his chest. He turned around as Lydia dragged Stiles to him.

 

“Okay, now repeat what you told me,” Lydia commanded. Danny glanced around, then began.

 

“I’ve only got a couple minutes until my boss comes back. I’m supposed to be running a diagnostic.  If he sees me away from my desk, I'm in trouble,” Danny explained.

 

“Got it. Continue,” Lydia said impatiently.

 

“After Lydia came to me with her little request, I did more digging. I was curious. Lydia told me what you found out about Oak Creek and what happened back in the sixties,” Danny said, looking to Stiles. Stiles nodded.

 

“Okay, and?” he pressed.

 

“And I kept going. That lot where it used to be, just outside of town? It’s owned by this sanctuary. It’s still registered as government property, specifically devoted for sanctuary use. There are records on our servers connected to it. Power, water, gas lines. All still running and all being paid for out of our utilities budget,” he said.

 

“What the hell does that mean?” Stiles asked. That didn’t make any sense, there shouldn’t have been anything there to supply power or water to. Lydia turned to him.

 

“It means I might have been wrong. Something else is happening over there, they’re not using just the name. Oak Creek sanctuary is still in operation, at least in some capacity.” Stiles nodded.

 

“Okay. We go, we see what’s there. If it’s something bad, we bail. But I _have_ to know,” Stiles said, and slowly, Lydia nodded as well. The two looked to Danny.

 

“Look, I was only curious because I wanted to know what this had to do with Jackson. I can’t go with you guys - that’s trespassing and I have priors,” he said, backing away. “And sorry, you guys have to go, my boss will be back here any minute and I have to get back to coding. But keep me posted, alright?”

 

“Fine,” Lydia said. Danny slid an access key card into a lock by the door they were standing near, and it opened for him. Stiles caught a glimpse of the wall of security monitors and terminals inside the otherwise dark room before Danny shut the door behind him.

 

“I don’t blame him,” Lydia said. She and Stiles began to walk back towards the entrance hall, away from the security room. They took their time.

 

“When is your next day off?” Stiles asked. He didn’t have another one coming up, but he had a solution for that.

 

“Four days,” Lydia replied.

 

“Lydia are you sure you want to go through with this? You said it yourself this could be dangerous,” Stiles pulled her to a stop with a hand on her arm.

 

“Yes, Stiles. I want to know what’s happening as bad as you do,” she said, her eyes boring into his. “Don’t you dare go over there without me. Four days. _Promise_ me.”

 

“Alright. Okay, I pro-,” Stiles began.

 

“ _Stilinski!”_ Finstock’s shout echoed in the hallway. Stiles cringed, turned, and saw his boss was beet red in the face as he marched over.

 

“Aw, crap,” Stiles muttered.

 

“Back on duty, now! There’s three groups waiting for you and you’re off _slacking!_ Do you _want_ to get fired? Because believe me, that would be my _pleasure._ I’m serious. And you, Martin. I expected this from him but not you. Both of you, back to work, _now,_ ” Finstock ranted, livid. But when was he ever the opposite of livid?

 

Lydia took her leave and scurried back to the front desk. Stiles made to follow her but Finstock stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, and turned him around.

 

“Oh, I’m not done with _you_ , bucko,” Finstock said jabbing a finger into his sternum.

 

Stiles gulped.

 

\--

 

“Alright so it was my fault this time, he caught me shirking off on shift with Lydia so yeah, my bad,” Stiles said. He was on the phone with his father, unpacking boxes in the stock room. It was after hours, and he’d been saddled with checking in the new gift shop inventory as punishment. Finstock’s tirade had basically boiled down to a few key points.

 

a)      Stiles was a pain in his ass.

b)      Stiles was treading on thin ice, _very_ thin ice.

c)      Stiles’ punishment for that day’s shirking, and also the janitor closet incident a few days prior, was stock room duty after hours with no overtime pay.

 

So all in all nothing too far out of the ordinary. With the number of times Finstock had claimed he was _this close_ to firing him, Stiles was hardly fazed by the threat anymore. He wasn’t exactly looking forward to spending the night whiling away in the stock room checking in the inventory, but it was a fair a punishment as any. He took it with grace and decided to actually get all the work he needed to get done before he would skip off to see Scott.

 

“ _Good God Stiles, it’s a wonder you still have a job_ ,” he could hear his father sigh on the other end of the line.

 

“I know, I know. I’ll behave myself, I promise,” Stiles muttered.

 

“ _Yeah, I’ll believe that when I see it. Any idea when you’ll be getting home?”_ his dad asked.

 

“Uh, no, not really. It might be late,” he said, glancing around. “There’s a lot of stuff here. Don’t wait up, okay dad?”

 

“ _…Alright. I’ll leave some food out for you. And Stiles?”_ he said, before hanging up.

 

“What?”

 

“ _Let’s not make this a habit, okay?”_

 

“Sure thing, pops,” Stiles promised. And by habit, Stiles flipped it to being more careful in not getting caught.

 

\--

 

He could’ve waited until he had more concrete evidence to tell Scott and Derek, but he wanted to share what he’d found and four whole days seemed like an awful long wait to see Scott again. So Stiles hurried to finish sorting through the boxes, stacking the items in their place on the inventory room shelves and checking off the lists of the received items. Once he’d finished and locked up, he went straight downstairs and was careful to mind the night guard. As per usual, getting in was the easy part.

 

Once inside, Stiles had a little bit of a harder time than usual navigating the path. The night was cloudy, blocking out what little moonlight he normally travelled by during night time visits. The moonlight occasionally filtered through the trees when there was a break in the clouds, lighting his path. When he came through to a wide part of the trail where there was just enough of a gap in the trees to see the sky he paused to catch his breath, and looked up.

 

It was a beautiful night. It had cooled off considerably since the sun had set, and a breeze had picked up. The clouds broke and for a moment Stiles could see the deep inky sky dotted with bright white stars and just a wedge of the round moon. If Stiles had anything better than a camera phone on him he would’ve Instagram-ed that shit in a heartbeat. But alas, he’d have to enjoy the sight of the beautifully full moon on his own without sharing it with social media.

 

It took Stiles exactly twenty two seconds to realize what was wrong with that picture.

 

Twenty two seconds of staring up at the full moon for the realization to hit him like a brick. Twenty three seconds to remember the lunar calendar tacked up on his bedroom wall, the countdown clock on the wall above the security desk on the lower level of the compound, and the very basic of basic common sense, no-brainer facts about lycanthropy.

 

At twenty four seconds Stiles turned around and launched into a dead sprint back the way he’d come.

 

Full moon.

 

_Full moon._

_Stiles you dumb fuck, what happens on a full moon_?

 

In the distance, wolves howled.

 

\--

 

 _How could that kid be so goddamn stupid?_ Was the first thought that came to Derek when he smelled the familiar scent. No, really. He knew the kid was a little spastic, a poster child for hyperactivity even. He jumped to conclusions and he was rash - that Derek more or less understood from their brief interactions. But how was that level of idiocy possible? How was that absolute lack of common sense even _human_?

 

It truly baffled Derek. He didn’t understand it and would someone seriously like to explain it to him because _how the shit was Stiles that stupid_?

 

It was the full moon. Did the kid just suddenly forget what happened to goddamn _werewolves_ on the _full moon?_

 

**_HOW?_ **

Derek knew his senses were heightened with the moon rising but he knew also that the four younger wolves still in the middle of painful shifts had heightened senses as well. They were around him now, all four of them doubled over in various stages of their bodies bending, breaking and reforming, growing larger and sprouting fur, losing themselves to their animalistic halves. They might have been currently preoccupied by their ordeal, but Derek had about ten seconds before they’d smell Stiles too. Then the instinct to hunt would override any feelings of affection they felt for the boy. To them, Stiles would go from friend to food in an instant, and the kid wouldn’t stand a chance against the four of them on the hunt.

 

Derek made his decision in less than an instant, and took off running in the direction he smelled Stiles.

 

\--

 

Stiles ran like he had never had cause to run before in his life. If the track and field coach were to see him in that moment he’d be begging Stiles to join his varsity team. Colleges would be recruiting him on the spot, prostrating themselves at his feet with visions of championships dancing. The goddamn president would be giving him a medal for how fast he was going. Too bad Stiles wasn’t going to live to see any of that happen. Panic had taken over completely, fueling his legs, pushing him to a velocity he’d never before achieved.

 

Running _literally_ for his life could be a powerful motivator, Stiles discovered. Maybe if he wanted to do better in school sports they could wait ‘til the full moon and sic bloodthirsty werewolves on him. Because that was honestly the only thing that could ever get him to run like this, his life in danger and all.

 

He barely noticed anything beyond his own immediate need to _get the fuck outta Dodge,_ so he didn’t notice Derek at all until the werewolf intersected his path and caught him around the middle, effectively cutting him off and making him feel like he’d just run into a brick wall.

 

It fucking hurt.

 

“ _Are you_ _out of your goddamn mind **?** ” _Derek bellowed before he’d even righted Stiles. Stiles’ mind took a minute to recede from fight or flight mode, and it accordingly took him a few moments to realize Derek was a) not shifted, b) very _very_ angry but not about to maim or maul him, and c) still had his arms around Stiles’ waist. Also, d) Derek was rather warm, and e) Stiles didn’t mind being in his arms nearly as much as he thought he’d might, f) his list of things he was noticing was growing ridiculously long, g) the silence between them was stretching to into an awkward length, and finally h)…um. Was Derek always that pretty when he was angry?

 

Stiles blinked a couple times. He tried to focus on Derek’s words.

 

“Jury’s out,” Stiles said weakly. Derek looked apoplectic.

 

“We don’t have time for this,” Derek hissed, looking around. He finally let go of Stiles, looked around wildly. “ _Shit.”_

 

“This is probably the dumbest thing I’ve _ever_ done in my life, and that’s really saying something, I know, I know. I wasn’t thinking-,” Stiles began, and the look Derek gave him was bordering on comically maniacal.

 

“ _YOU DON’T SAY?_ ” Derek’s voice shot up a few octaves.

 

“I’m sorry-,” Stiles said, wincing.

 

“It’s the _full moon._ You know what-,” Derek stopped. “No, fuck this we don’t have time. We’ve got to get you out, _now,_ or you’re not living to see morning.” And with that Derek bent, put his shoulder to Stiles’ midsection and before Stiles could ask him what he was doing, Derek was lifting him like a sack of potatoes.

 

“ _What the fuck,”_ Stiles exclaimed, suddenly upside down with an interestingly angled view of Derek’s backside.

 

“No time, you can’t run for shit, I know it’s awkward but just shut the fuck up and hold the fuck on,” Derek ordered. There wasn’t much Stiles could say or do to make the situation any less…well, frankly ridiculous than it already was and he figured Derek was doing what he was doing to save him from becoming a midnight snack for his feral friends, so Stiles did as told and didn’t complain about being treated like an invalid.

 

Stiles also did his best to situate himself as least awkwardly as physically possible being carried the way he was. Derek was running, and _fast,_ and running meant lots of bouncing. Stiles could tell Derek was doing his level best to not jostle him too much, but that wasn’t the priority at the moment. Stiles, faced with the choice of either clinging to Derek’s back somewhat akin to a sloth or flailing wildly and hoping to not have his face pressed against Derek’s ass, went for the first option.

 

Derek was making half the time it took Stiles to get here, but even Stiles could hear the howling by this point. His friends were getting closer and closer at an alarming rate, and Stiles knew Derek could put two and two together.

 

“We’ll never make it,” Derek said under his breath. He didn’t slow, however, but changed course abruptly. Bushes whipped past them and they cut through thick undergrowth off the path. Derek jumped over fallen logs, boulders and thick bushes and each time he did it winded Stiles but he didn’t care. Derek kept going, putting an extra push into his step until they were out of the underbrush and into a clearing. Only once they were free of the tangle of branches and ivy did Derek set Stiles back down on his own two feet. He didn’t stop, he pushed Stiles forward and Stiles saw they were at his house. The two story concrete building sat tall and dark in the night and Derek wasted no time in pushing him up the steps and through the door.

 

“Lock this door, every bolt. Do _not_ come out, under any circumstances. No matter what you hear,” Derek said in the doorway.

 

“What-,” Stiles started, but Derek cut him off.

 

“ _No matter what,_ understand?”

 

“Yes, but I-,”

 

“ _Promise me,_ ” Derek ordered. Stiles swallowed, his breath hitching at the severity of the look Derek was leveling him with. 

 

“Okay,” Stiles said. “I promise.” Derek’s expression didn’t soften. He pulled the door shut, cutting their exchange short. Stiles hesitated only a moment, then bolted the door as told. He heard Derek thump down the steps, away from him. Stiles backed away from the door. It was dark in the house, the only light faint moonlight coming in through the windows on either side of the door. Stiles twisted the cord of the blinds covering them, then moved down the hall into the empty dining room and kitchen, doing the same to the windows he found in there as well as in the living room he remembered sitting in the first time Derek had invited him and Scott in there. Then Stiles moved back to the stairs he’d seen on his first visit and climbed them.

 

The upstairs landing split in either direction down narrow hallways lined with a couple of doors on either side. Stiles didn’t bother with the windows on this level, he wanted the light to see by. He moved down the hall picking left randomly and opened a door. It was a bedroom, fairly large and going by the bathroom through a door to his left, he guessed the master suite. There was still a bed standing in this room, but it was just a frame and mattress and it was covered in dirt. Stiles guessed this wasn’t where Derek slept.

 

Stiles sat down on the mattress, disturbing the dust.

 

He sat and he waited.

 

\--

 

Derek knew the young wolves would follow the scent of human straight to the house, so he figured there was no point taking off and trying to lead them away. There wasn’t enough of Stiles’ scent on him to fool them into thinking he was still with the kid. He also knew there wasn’t a chance of reasoning with them, either. The teenagers were barely better than fresh bitten wolves, they were running on pure instinct at the moment and if they found their friend now nothing would stop them from tearing him apart. Not even a lifetime of near-sibling affection in Scott’s case. And Derek knew that if he allowed that to happen Scott would tear himself apart with guilt.

 

Were Scott’s feelings really the only reason he was protecting Stiles? No, and he knew they weren’t, but he pushed those thoughts aside for the time being.   

 

Derek stood his ground outside the old Hale house. When he could hear the young wolves nearing, he stripped out of his clothes and felt for the shift. It didn’t take much for the instinct to rise, and he gave in to the pull of the moonlight and let the shift overcome him. The loss of inhibitions he felt as he shed his human skin and came down on all fours was a powerful thing, and when he smelled Stiles through his wolf nose he almost lost himself to the instinct to _hunt._ But Derek had worked for years to control the shift, and he could keep his mind straight even in wolf form.

 

He flexed, black fur rustling over strong muscles. Derek howled, low, guttural, signaling to the others were he was. When the four responded they were much closer than he’d thought they were. Several other howls further away replied as well. Loners. They didn’t sound as feral as the teenagers had. They might not have smelled Stiles, or if they had they weren’t interested. Derek could only hope the latter was the case, and that his howl hadn’t caught the attention of someone else looking for fresh meat.

 

When they crashed through the underbrush Derek was ready for them. Erica was first, her blonde fur recognizable. Boyd was behind her, huge and black-brown. Isaac, smaller and grey was beside Scott. He was larger than Isaac but smaller than Boyd, and dark russet in color. When they saw Derek they stopped, fur bristling and snouts pulling back in angry snarls, puffs of hot air escaping their snouts and fanged teeth. Derek could see their eyes glowing in the darkness, all piercing gold, menacing and ethereal, and saw they were all lost to the shift. They’d spent so much time and energy repressing it, avoiding it, putting it off and shoving it away, that when it was brought out of them against their wills during the full moon they couldn’t hope to control it.

 

When Derek looked at them, he felt sorry for them. The shift shouldn’t be like that. The shift wasn’t an ugly or frightening thing, it was freeing. It was liberation. It wasn’t anger or pain or bloodlust. Werewolves were predators by nature, but they didn’t have to be killers.

 

Derek would teach them control. He would teach them to love the shift, love what it could be. But not just then, first he had to stop them from killing their friend.

 

His odds weren’t exactly great, but the four younger wolves were far less experienced with the shift than him and his clear head gave him an advantaged.

 

When they lunged for him, he was ready.

 

\--

 

Stiles wanted to cover his ears, bury himself, crawl into a small ball somewhere and hide. The noise outside would give him nightmares for years to come, that was for sure. Not even the time he’d stayed up late and watched the Ring was going to be as mentally scarring as this was, he could feel it.

 

The cacophony of growling, screeching, snarling and ungodly noises was almost too much for him to take. That was Derek out there. Derek and Scott and Erica and Boyd and Isaac. The people he knew, the people he liked, his best friend among them. Viciously ripping each other apart.

 

And if Derek hadn’t found him, that would’ve been _him._ Stiles, torn between four rabid werewolves like an extremely unfortunate chew toy.

 

The thought was sobering, to say the least.

 

Scott didn’t talk about the change, about full moons. Stiles had asked on a couple occasions, but neither Scott nor Erica or Boyd, or even Isaac liked to talk about it. Stiles respected that, he really did but he’d always burned with curiosity. He figured they didn’t like to talk about it because it was a reminder of their circumstances and a depressing thought in and of itself.

 

But Stiles knew now. It wasn’t that at all. They weren’t depressed by the thought of the full moon shift, they were _terrified_ of it. How could they not be? Stiles hadn’t even seen them, he couldn’t look at them from where he was, he hadn’t seen first-hand the shift they’d gone through to take the form they were fighting in now. He’d only ever seen diagrams, clean cartoon depictions of the metamorphosis between human and wolf.

 

But he _heard_ it. Every snarl, every howl, every vicious meeting of teeth and claw. And meat. It was monstrous. It was the most terrifying sound he’d ever heard in his life.

 

He couldn’t match the image of his best friend, goofy-smiling Scott, to one of the beasts outside. He couldn’t do it, no matter how much he logically understood that was his _best friend_ out there tearing Derek apart because he was too consumed with bloodlust to remember what a kind-hearted person he was. How he cried when he’d accidentally sat on and killed a moth in third grade. How he’d never been good at lacrosse because he just didn’t have the aggression for the sport. How he’d volunteered at animal shelters to patch up hurt and abused animals because he hated violence and anyone who directed it towards innocent creatures.

 

That Scott was gone. Gone and taken over by someone who was doing his damndest to kill Derek, who was standing in between him and making a meal of his best friend.

 

\--

 

Stiles stayed curled up on the dusty mattress for what felt like hours. He might have moved, but he couldn’t make his hands or feet follow directions. Minutes ticked by and after a torturous length of time, things finally fell quiet outside. It didn’t lighten the situation any. Stiles had no idea how to read the silence, if Scott and the others were gone and Derek had managed to fend them off, or if it meant the opposite and he should be barricading himself in a closet somewhere.

 

A pounding came at the door.

 

“ _Stiles!”_ It was Derek, human, and at the sound of his voice relief washed over Stiles. He jumped from the bed and took the stairs two at a time. It took him fumbling with the locks for a few seconds to get them open, and once the door gave way Derek shoved it open then shut again quickly behind him. He slumped up against the wall once he’d set the locks again.  

 

He was bleeding, profusely, in many places that made Stiles’ stomach do funny flip-flops to see. He had his shirt wadded up in his hand and he was pulling his pants back on, so Stiles deftly looked away and pretended he hadn’t been staring.

 

“Are - are you okay?” No, of course he wasn’t. Blood everywhere, remember?

 

“Living room,” Derek grunted and peeled himself from the foyer wall. He lurched forward on unsteady feet, and Stiles moved automatically to catch him before he could topple forward. Queasiness squashed, Stiles tried not to mind the feeling of blood soaking into his shirt as he helped Derek limp down the hallway to the couch in the living room. Derek was heavy, and Stiles tried to be as gentle as he could letting him fall onto the couch. Derek grunted almost appreciatively as he settled himself into a slouched sitting position and let his head drop against the back of the sofa.

 

Getting a better look at him laid out, Stiles saw his wounds were numerous, but not deep. There were bites and scrapes and drags of claws all over his chest and arms and Stiles could see some bloody patches soaking through his grey pants, but nothing looked fatally injured. Stiles saw one of Derek’s eyes was cracked open, watching him.

 

“You should see the other four,” he muttered, before his eye slipped shut again. Stiles let out his nerves in a breathless laugh.

 

“I hope they’re not too bad,” Stiles said.

 

“No, I went easy on them,” Derek assured him.

 

“Easy? _That_ was easy?”

 

“They’ll still be feeling some of it tomorrow, but they’ll be alright. And I managed to get the message to scram and not come back to stick. They won’t return, they’ll be keeping their distance and looking for something else to hunt. They might find another loner and pick a fight just because they’re running on the hunting high, but they can’t get into too much trouble out there,” Derek explained, his breath a little ragged. The tension drained from Stiles, leaving him feeling all wobbly like a plate of Jell-O. His knees didn’t want to cooperate any longer and he sank into one of the stiff chairs across from Derek.

 

“What about you?” Stiles asked. “Are you okay?”

 

“I’m fine,” Derek said.

 

“I’m no facility technician, but you don’t look fine. ‘Fine’ in my experience doesn’t usually include covered in gratuitous amounts of blood,” Stiles retorted. Derek sighed, too tired to bite back at Stiles’ snark.

 

“Give me a minute. Most of this is starting to heal. It was four on one but I can hold my own against newly bitten wolves,” he said.  Not listening, Stiles stood and made his way into the kitchen. He pulled open drawer after drawer and checked every cabinet but could not find what he was looking for. He tried the bathrooms, downstairs and up, but no such luck. Except for sparse bits of furniture in the upstairs bedroom and the living room, the house was bare. He made his way back to the living room and Derek was watching him intently.

 

“What are you doing?” Derek asked as Stiles stripped his outer flannel shirt. It might have been summer in northern California, but Stiles’ wardrobe never wavered from plaid button ups over t-shirts and jeans. He usually wore his uniform vest over a plain shirt and pulled on the button up on after work to go home. The one he’d worn that day was one of his favorites, but Derek needed it more than him at the moment. Stiles wadded up his shirt and moved to Derek’s side.

 

“Cleaning you up, it’s the least I can do,” he said and began wiping as gently as he could at the cuts on Derek’s arm. He got up to try the sink in the kitchen after a bit of fruitless attempts to get the dried bits off, and came back with a wet shirt to clean the wounds more properly. Stiles knew it wasn’t exactly sanitary and this was not standard wound-cleaning procedure, but like Derek said most of the small things were already healing. Stiles was just trying to get the grit and grime off him as best he could until he could move again and do it himself.

 

Derek said nothing while Stiles worked, not even when Stiles moved to his chest and neck and sides and was accommodating even with the awkward places. Stiles did his level best to not make this more awkward than it needed to be, but more than once felt his face heating up regardless. It was the way Derek was watching him, it had to be. That and the near deafening silence the pair had lapsed into.

 

Finally, when Stiles was finished and had mopped enough of the blood and dirt and bits of wolf fur off Derek to be satisfied, he stood and went to throw his shirt in the kitchen sink. He took longer than necessary in trying to rinse as much of the grime out of his shirt as he could, but eventually gave up. He’d never get the stains out. He left the shirt where it was and returned slowly to the living room. He sat back down on the chair.

 

“Thanks. That feels better,” Derek said quietly.

 

“I should be thanking you,” Stiles returned. Derek laughed.

 

“No problem.” Stiles laughed too, but let it fall flat.

 

“I’m serious, Derek, thank you. If you hadn’t-,”

 

“No, Stiles if _you_ hadn’t been dumb enough to come down here, _tonight_ of all nights - seriously, what the hell were you _thinking-_ ,”

 

“ _I know, I’m sorry_ , _”_ Stiles stopped him. His gut burned with guilt. Derek said he wasn’t hurt too badly, but if it weren’t for Stiles he wouldn’t be hurt at all. Stiles wanted to smack himself.

 

“No, don’t do that,” Derek said, like he could read Stiles’ thoughts. For a brief moment Stiles wondered if he could, if that was another werewolf superpower and if so he regretted a vast number of things he’d thought in Derek’s presence. Specifically about Derek himself. _Oh god_.

 

“I’m an idiot, I know, and now my stupidity is lethal apparently,” Stiles said, jumping off that train of thought quickly. On the off chance the werewolf psychic shit was actually a thing.

 

“Maybe so, but don’t beat yourself up too badly,” Derek sounded a little stiff trying to reassure him, but Stiles appreciated it all the same.

 

“Yeah, guess I should leave that to you. You’ve got that whole werewolf indestructability thing going. And I - well, I don’t.”

 

“I’m not indestructible, but yeah. I won’t break as easily as you, so let me handle the getting beat up stuff,” Derek said.

 

“Roger, will do. Next full moon I visit I’ll be sure to leave the rabid wolves all to you.”

 

“Oh no, you’re not doing this _ever_ again. I mean it,” Derek propped himself up on an elbow to glare at Stiles, and Stiles laughed.

 

“Kidding. _So_ not planning on it,” he assured the werewolf. Derek rolled his eyes and repositioned himself on the couch with a grunt.

 

“Hey, whoa, you okay?” Stiles made to move and help him, but Derek shook his head, declining Stiles’ offer of assistance. Derek looked like he was recovering already. Stiles seriously envied the healing powers of werewolves. More comfortable, Derek poked and prodded at some of the still-healing wounds on his torso. There was a line of perfectly parallel claw marks on his chest just above his navel, and while they had stopped bleeding it was taking a bit longer for them to close. There was another on his left shoulder, a tooth indention that looked deep, but several of the shallower punctures had closed already. After assessing the areas still damaged, Derek relaxed against the back of the sofa in a less slouched position than before. He kept his head up, and he looked at Stiles.

 

“We’re not going to be able to make a run for the hatch, I’m afraid,” Derek said. “It’s too risky. Not with the four still out there, and who knows what other loners who have smelled you and might want to try something.”

 

“So what, I’m stuck here ‘til morning?” Stiles asked. He’d figured as much. Derek nodded.

 

“Afraid so,” he said. Stiles didn’t fight that, he was relieved in a way. Had Derek suggested they make a run for it, he would’ve crawled upstairs, hid in a closet and refused to leave. Stiles had never feared being in the sanctuary before, not once. He knew what werewolves were capable of, but he’d always considered himself a firm sympathetic to lycan kind. He’d always considered himself above the base hysteria of the common folk who blindly feared them like they were animals.

 

That was before he’d ever been in the immediate vicinity of a pack of viciously blood-thirsty ones all gunning for a bite out of him. It was taking him some time to cope.

 

“Stiles,” Derek said, catching his attention. Stiles looked at him. “I can smell it, you know. Your fear.”

 

“I - I just, I’m not afraid. I’m not, I swear. I’m just…,” Stiles faltered. He tried balling his hands up into fists, but the shaking wouldn’t stop. He couldn’t keep Derek’s gaze, his eyes dropped to the floor. The couch creaked as Derek’s leaned forward.

 

“I understand,” Derek said. “That was Scott out there. You’re having a hard time reconciling what just happened with your idea of who your friend is.”

 

“What - I know who Scott is, what do you mean by that?” Stiles’ head snapped up to meet Derek’s eyes.

 

“You know who he _was._ You still think he’s that person, you still see him as the best friend you grew up with.”

 

“Why the hell wouldn’t I? He’s still Scott, the bite didn’t change that,” Stiles said a little defensively. Derek looked at him hard.

 

“It did, and you need to accept that. Your friend is different. He, Erica, Boyd, Isaac - they still haven’t accepted that themselves. That’s what happens to people who are bitten, that’s why they’re so unstable and it’s so hard for them to control the shift. They’re stuck - they cling to their past lives and they aren’t willing to let themselves change. They reject the new side of themselves that comes with the shift. And most of the time, they never learn to embrace who they are now,” Derek said. Stiles made a face when he was done.

 

“Who are you, Dr. Phil? Scott is Scott, he’s my friend, I’m not _afraid_ of him-,”

 

“Then why are you trembling?” Derek nodded towards Stiles’ clenched hands.

 

“I’m-,”

 

“That _was_ Scott out there. Don’t try separating the two. Your _best friend_ Scott was going to kill you tonight if he had the chance. Without hesitating. The kid you once knew would never have done that, but he damn near did tonight,” Derek put bluntly.

 

“What are you trying to say? I hate Scott? I hate werewolves? I thought you guys _wanted_ people to see you’re not monsters like they think you are,” Stiles shot back. “I’m not like them. I don’t think like that. I think werewolves are people too.”

 

“We’re not. We’re _werewolves._ We’re hunters, predators. We’re dangerous, we’re not _human._ I’m not, Scott’s not, Erica, Boyd, Isaac - they aren’t. You think you’re friends with them but you need to learn to accept the fact they’re not like you. Not totally, not the way you want them to be.” His words stung, and Stiles recoiled.

 

“That’s not true,” he said lamely, unable to come up with a counter argument.

 

“What part of that wasn’t?” Stiles fell quiet.

 

“I’m not…afraid of Scott,” Stiles said in a low, uncertain tone. “Or, I don’t want to be. Scott is my best friend, I want to be there for him, I want him to be happy. I don’t know, you might be right though,” Stiles admitted, “Tonight freaked me out. I’m still trying to process it and… yeah It might take me a while, but I don’t want to do that to Scott. I can’t pull away from him, I can’t let him think I’m scared of him. That would kill him.” After considering his answer, Derek looked at the kid sitting across from him. He was skinny and rash and stupid at times, but he was also pretty incredible.

 

“…Oh,” Derek said in a low whisper.

 

“What?” Stiles’ head shot up, his eyes locked on Derek trying to read his expression.

 

“I had you pegged wrong, that’s all,” Derek said. The corner of his mouth twitched up, and Stiles must have been misreading his expression in the dim light, but he could’ve sworn Derek was actually…smiling.

 

“What do you mean by that?” Stiles asked cautiously.

“It doesn’t matter, never mind,” Derek said, and didn’t elaborate.

 

“No, Derek what? What did you mean by that?”

 

“I just…I guess I figured you were doing all of this for _you._ Not Scott. When I first met you I thought, yeah what you were doing was brave but I also thought it was all selfishness on your part.” Derek shrugged. “I was wrong.”

 

Stiles didn’t have a response for that. For whatever reason, Stiles was not inclined to press the matter. He let the conversation drop there, and the pair lapsed into a somewhat comfortable silence. There was barely any light filtering through the windows, and Derek hadn’t turned any lights inside on. Even in the low light, however, Stiles could tell Derek was looking at him, that oddly bemused expression still in place. To be honest, it was starting to make him a little self-conscious, but Stiles didn’t feel his normal urge to do something alleviate the situation. Later, when he thought back over the events of the night, Stiles would chalk the strange feeling coming over him as merely nerves, relief, uncertainty or maybe it was full moon juju, but for the moment he let it be. He let the strangely comfortable silence stretch, and stared right back at Derek.

 

Then Derek did something that Stiles wasn’t wholly unprepared for.

 

Derek leaned forward off the couch and kissed him.

 

Stiles, overcome with nerves, relief, uncertainty or maybe full moon juju, kissed him back.

 

He didn’t pause to think about why he was kissing Derek back, or why Derek had kissed him in the first place. None of that particularly mattered, Stiles decided. Logically speaking what they were doing didn’t make a whole lot of sense. There was little, if any, precursor to it. He’d never looked at Derek that way up until this point, or of he had he hadn’t been aware of it. He’d never even contemplated the desire to kiss the grumpy wolf man, never considered what it might be like to have his lips moving against Derek’s or Derek’s untrimmed facial hair scratching his cheek, but it felt surprisingly _right._ Like _of course_ , this was exactly what he should be doing at the moment.

 

Kissing Derek just made sense in some cosmic manner and Stiles didn’t think twice about it. His eyes slipped shut and he let Derek’s lips work against his in a very _very_ nice way.

 

The moment was over _far_ too quickly for Stiles’ liking.

 

“I should - go,” Derek said abruptly, pulling himself away. Stiles was left blinking. 

 

“What - just happened,” he stated, frankly mystified. Derek pulled himself up from the couch and did so with a lot less grunting than his last attempt at moving.

 

“I’m sorry-,” Derek blurted. Stiles realized Derek’s face was beet red, even without the werewolf looking at him.  “I don’t think I meant to do that. Full moon and all. Loss of inhibitions, not easy to control myself - yeah. Thought I had better control than that. I’m sorry.” Stiles blinked owlishly at his words.

 

“I’m not,” Stiles said before he could stop himself. He probably should’ve been alleviating the awkwardness of the situation, maybe reassuring Derek he understood and didn’t quite feel in his right mind either, but he didn’t. Derek looked down at him, face still very red and very cute now that Stiles got a good look at the normally stoic Derek’s face all a-fluster.

 

“You’re not?”

 

“Nope. In fact I’m pretty sure I’m the opposite of sorry right now. That was pretty fantastic,” Stiles said, brain/mouth filter apparently momentarily out of order. “Can’t say I was expecting that - really out of the blue there - but I’m surprisingly okay with it. And things like that. Yeah, I’m good,” Stiles assured him. Somewhere a little voice, his little voice that told him how to handle interpersonal situations like a normal human being would, was telling him to shut up but he still hadn’t reached the point of caring to listen to it yet.

 

“Alright - then,” Derek said. He turned awkwardly, facing the door. “I should still go. You know, the others - they might come back. Or another wolf. Or something, I don’t know but it’d be safer if I stand guard outside,” he finished, regaining his composure a little.

 

“Derek?” He looked back at Stiles as he stood in the door frame.

 

“…Thanks,” Stiles said. Not the best line, but his self-consciousness was catching back up to him and he suddenly couldn’t think of the right words to say. Thus far the shock had kept whatever other emotions hammering through his heart at bay, but it was wearing off and Stiles could feel a monstrous blush building on his face. He’d been kissing the guy not a minute ago, why was it suddenly so hard to figure out words to say to him? Cheeks burning, he stared down at his hands.

 

“No problem. I’ll be outside. You can head upstairs, there’s a bed. Get some rest,” Derek said, voice even and gentle. Then he left.

 

Stiles sat in the chair for a long while, letting the maelstrom of emotions run their course. His brain was finally catching up to their act and the sense of universal _rightness_ had faded considerably. It was still there, though. Embarrassment aside he couldn’t honestly say he regretted anything about that exchange.

 

He’d just been kissed by Derek Hale.

 

He’d just kissedDerek Hale _back_.

 

“Oh, _shit_ ,” Stiles whispered to the empty house.

 

\--

 

Stiles didn’t get much sleep. He stayed on the first level and kipped out on the couch, getting a couple hours of light snoozing. After Derek had left he’d listened for the signs of more conflict, but none came. That either meant Derek hadn’t encountered any other attackers or he’d gone into the woods far enough away that Stiles couldn’t hear them. Derek had said he wouldn’t leave the front of the house, though, so Stiles took the silence as a good sign.

 

When he finally drifted off to sleep on the couch, the night passed quickly and before he knew it he was blinking awake to faint morning light filtering through the cracks in the blinds.

He heard the door open and shut and footsteps in the hall, but his foggy morning mind tried to shut it out in favor of getting back to sleep. He couldn’t quite ignore the hand on his shoulder shaking him awake.

 

“Stiles, wake up,” Derek urged, and begrudgingly Stiles did so. He sat up and stretched, feeling his shoulders pop and strain from the awkward position he’d been in. The couch wasn’t large, and Stiles had curled up in a fetal position to get comfortable. He regretted not taking Derek’s advice and moving upstairs to the bed.

 

“Mmhwhat time is it?” Stiles asked, mouth thick with a stifled yawn.

 

“Around four. The sun’s up though and the others have shifted back for the night. They’re all passed out near the recreation hall, they’ll be sleeping off last night for a while,” Derek said. Stiles nodded.

 

“Right, right,” he said, yawning wide.

 

“It’s safe to get back to the hatch now, and I figured you’d want to get out of here as early as possible,” Derek said. The sleepiness was snapped out of him instantly.

 

“Oh _man,_ ” Stiles groaned.

 

“What is it?”

 

“How am I going to explain this to my old man?” Derek chuckled, but Stiles’ mind reeled. He’d spent the night in the sanctuary. He’d actually been in there overnight, and on the _full moon._ Stiles felt like he should get a t-shirt out of the ordeal or something. _I survived the full moon,_ maybe. Stiles tried to remember if there were any shirts like that in the gift shop from last night's inventory.

 

Back to the issue of explaining his absence. It would be tricky, but he’d think of something.

 

Probably. Maybe. Unlikely.

 

He let Derek help him off the couch, and without saying anything else the pair left the house. They cross the clearing and found the path, taking their time now that there wasn’t a reason to hurry. Morning mist had rolled in and the weak morning light wasn’t yet strong enough to burn it away. It was chilly, but not unbearably so. It felt nice.

 

Derek must have been exhausted, but he didn’t say anything and was keeping it well hidden if he was. The pair walked in comfortable silence most of the way there. But Stiles had something on his mind, and he spoke up.

 

“Derek, why did you kiss me last night?” He said it in an idle, conversational tone that didn’t seem to fit the situation. Derek coughed awkwardly next to him.

 

“I’m not entirely sure why, actually,” Derek said. Then he shrugged. “It seemed like the thing to do at the time? I just...went with my instinct is a safe guess.” Stiles was feeling pretty much the same about it.

 

“That makes sense, I guess. In a strange way,” he said. Then he looked over at Derek. “Think it’ll be happening again?”

 

“…Do you want it to?” Derek asked as he looked back to Stiles. Stiles couldn’t suppress a smile.

 

“I think I’d like that, yeah,” he said, and Derek stopped and turned to him fully. Derek had an unreadable expression on his face as he looked at Stiles, then his hand came up to cup Stiles’ cheek and Derek was kissing him again. It was quick, chaste, and Derek pulled back before Stiles was quite satisfied but it was a very nice experience on whole.

 

“Okay?” Derek asked him. Stiles flushed, nodded shakily.

 

“Very okay, I think,” he stammered, and Derek smiled.

 

\--

 

Derek saw him through the hatch and Stiles felt a wash of guilt roll over him as he watched Derek disappear as it closed. So many times he’d fantasized smuggling Scott out of the sanctuary, just biting the proverbial silver bullet and going for it, and he must have had nearly a dozen plans mapped out, but none of them would end in anything other than bloodshed he was sure of it. He stayed in the processing room for a while, leaned up against one of the metal cabinets trying to sort through his feelings, but nothing wanted to work itself out in his mind. Too many emotions were swirling through him to pick out one and examine it. He couldn’t focus on any of it, not his renewed sense of injustice at Scott and every other werewolf inside the sanctuary’s situation, the guilt he felt at being unable to help any of them in a meaningful way, not how he felt about Scott now he’d come so close to the very dangerous side to his friend he’d never encountered before, not whatever he was feeling for Derek Hale.

 

What _was_ he feeling for Derek Hale?

 

Honestly, he hadn’t a single fucking clue.

 

All he did know was that thinking about Derek gave him a lot nicer feeling than thinking about any of the other shit going on inside him, and for the time being that was good enough for him.

 

Stiles stood, collected himself and pushed all the chaotic thoughts down and away to sort out later. He pressed his ear up to the processing room’s inner door, listening for the security guard. He had no idea what their schedule was this time of the morning, when others would be coming in for work and the amount of unknown factors presented very real problems for him. Stiles knew he couldn’t risk just making a break for it, so he made himself wait and wait as the minutes ticked by silently.

 

His patience was rewarded when he heard the even steps of the security guard pass by after some fifteen minutes of waiting. The guards didn’t make rounds on the lower level when the rest of the staff was on duty, so it must not have been time yet for them to come in. Stiles breathed a sigh of relief and waited another five minutes to be sure the guard had passed him and he was free to open the door, slip out, and make his way to the elevator unseen.

 

As soon as he was upstairs he left, grateful that the keycard he’d gotten from his father doubled as the key to the front doors. Stiles was able to unlock one, relock it and slip out with ease. He jumped into his jeep and drove home in the early morning light.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was a pain to write, god just don't look at it. no music this week I can't think of anything that goes well with it. if you have suggestions drop a comment i guess? 
> 
> forewarning for next chapter: I'm back in school, it might not be on time.

Stiles had a lie prepared for if his dad caught him sneaking back in, something about how he’d crashed at a fellow employee’s after staying later than they’d anticipated, but it didn’t end up being necessary. His dad was sound asleep when Stiles crept back into his house in the wee hours of the morning. Then, after a couple of hours of much needed rest, Stiles greeted him over breakfast and lied evenly when his dad asked him what time he’d gotten back home. His father seemed to accept his fib seamlessly, but Stiles didn’t press his luck. No, he was pretty sure surviving the full moon night in the sanctuary miraculously unscathed had used up all his luck in that lifetime.

 

Seriously, he needed at least a hat or something to commemorate the event.   


So, he treaded carefully the next few days, going to and coming from work as usual. He was even on his best behavior with Finstock, and gritted his teeth on his tours like a good worker boy. Stiles had never been more well-behaved in his entire working career that seemed genuinely concerned. Baffled by the sudden lack of crap from Stiles, but a happy kind of bafflement, Finstock rewarded him with gift shop duty, and Stiles spent the next two days until Lydia’s day off working diligently.

 

He didn’t even consider heading back down into the sanctuary just yet. No, he needed…time. A couple of days, he told himself, after he’d go see what there was to see at the old lot. After he had answers, he’d go back to see Derek. And Scott, Scott primarily. Definitely. Scott was his priority, totally.

 

 

But Scott… God, Stiles felt like shit thinking about him. As much as the self-imposed ban on seeing Scott ate at him, he knew he’d have to figure out how to put on a brave face to see his best friend again. There was no way he was letting Scott see a fearful Stiles, no way in a million years he’d do that to Scott.

 

So Stiles stayed away, perfected his poker face, and as he’d promised Lydia, he didn’t try to make the trip to the lot himself, no matter how the sweetly siren call of curiosity sang.

 

 _What_ was over there? Burning with curiosity and the promise of a new lead in the case, it took every ounce of Stiles’ meager willpower to resist popping over there early. But if anything, he was a man of his word. His investigation wall grew thick and cluttered with new pieces of paper, everything they had tracked down on the site, endless conjectures of what might be over there, and Stiles sat on his bed staring at it nearly every second of downtime he had. He was about to get his questions answered, and it was all he could do to make himself wait until they were. 

 

\--

 

On the fourth day he called in sick, coughing dramatically into the receiver in a hopefully convincing manner. The girl on the phone didn’t take much to win over, however, and let him know that he had the day. Finstock might have suspected something was up owing to his unusually tamed behavior the last few days, but Stiles would worry about his boss when he returned to work the next day. When the agreed-upon hour came, Stiles pulled on some hiking boots and loaded into his jeep. He texted Lydia to let her know he was on his way and pulled out of his driveway.

 

Fifteen minutes later he pulled into Lydia’s and didn’t bother to stop the jeep. He honked once and after a couple minutes Lydia emerged, followed, much to his immediate surprise and latter chagrin, by Allison. He yanked his keys from the ignition and jumped out of the jeep.

 

“What is she doing here?” he asked sharply. Lydia made a face when the pair reached him.

 

“She’s coming with us,” Lydia told him.

 

“Uh, no she’s not,” Stiles returned, arms crossing over his chest. Lydia cocked her head to the side.

 

“And why, pray tell, not?”

 

“Because she’s - _she’s,_ ”

 

“My friend, your friend, and fully aware of our situation,” Lydia cut him off.

 

“What - you told her? Lydia, _why_ would you tell her?” Stiles fought the urge to pull at his hair. There were a great many urges that Lydia inspired in him, and that was probably the one most often felt.

 

“Why _wouldn’t_ I?”

 

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because her parents are _hunters,_ and possibly involved in the great big _deadly_ cover up we’re trying to _un_ cover?” came his retort.

 

“Exactly. She’s in a family of hunters. Hunters possibly connected to all this. And she’s also a hunter in training, and _my best friend._ If she hasn’t gone to them by now with all that I’ve been telling her about our little investigation, I think we can trust her,” Lydia reasoned. He hated when she did that.  

 

“Well, Lydia I disagree with you. _Vehemently._ I don’t think we can trust her like, _at all_ ,” Stiles was adamant. Allison rolled her eyes next to Lydia.

 

“Hi, yeah. Standing right here and I don’t appreciate being talked about like I’m not,” Allison cut in. Stiles didn’t want to look at her, but he did.

 

“And? What do you want?” Stiles asked hotly.

 

“I want to help,” she said simply. “I’m a hunter in training. I have knives and a taser if anything goes wrong, and no I haven’t gone to my parents about any of this, nothing that Lydia’s been telling me about the situation. I want to know what’s happening as bad as you do, and I want to know if my family is involved in any of this. I have a personal stake in it too, just like you two,” Allison said, looking between them both. Stiles stewed for a moment longer, trying to dissect the reasons why he didn’t want her to come. In truth, another head wasn’t detrimental to their little operation and could very well prove an asset. Grudge against her aside, Stiles believed what she was saying about not having rat them out to her parents. She had no reason to lie about that. After a moment more of trying to come up with an argument outside his own pettiness, Stiles sighed.

 

“Alright _fine,_ get in,” he grumbled, yanking open the door to his jeep. He climbed into the driver’s seat while Lydia took shotgun. Allison sat in the back and Stiles, still fuming under his breath, started driving.

 

Lydia navigated. They’d pulled the location from the records Danny’d found in the sanctuary database. Stiles was vaguely familiar with the location, but the exact spot would take some getting to. It was nearly an hour before they reached the turn, some miles outside of town right where he and Lydia had thought it was. To an uneducated eye it looked like nothing more than part of the surrounding forest stretching out for miles on either side of the interstate. But on a closer drive by they saw what looked like a turn off. They doubled back, grateful the road was empty and they could pull a U turn, and took it.

 

The road they’d seen was not much more than a path, heavily overgrown that had nearly been totally retaken by the surrounding fauna, but Stiles’ jeep just barely managed it. Stiles drove slow, unsure of what they were looking for beyond the few crumbled remains of foundations visible from the road. The sanctuary grounds themselves would be huge, spread for a couple miles around the area. There had been no blue prints or maps of the place to be found, so they were flying essentially blind in trying to locate where any buildings might still be standing and useable. They drove in relative silence for a stretch, all three of them looking out into the trees for some kind of indication of what they were looking for. The path in front of them kept going for who knows how much further and didn’t seem like it was taking them anywhere. If there had been a sanctuary here at any point in history, it was long gone and buried with the passage of time. Stiles was beginning to think they’d hit a dead end when Allison called out.

 

“Look, over there,” she pointed off to the left where a small concrete structure stood mostly intact. They hadn’t seen anything else and it was a promising lead as any, so Stiles turned his jeep and cut through the low brush separating them. He didn’t have to trample many small plants, only a yard or so of underbrush separated their little path from a wide if overgrown clearing the concrete structure stood in. Stiles pulled up to it and stopped his jeep. The three of them filed out and gathered around it.

 

The structure was lower than it had looked from the road, squat and square. It looked like the entrance to a storm cellar. There was a heavy set of rusty metal doors set into the face of it, the doors looked old and worn but the electronic keypad set in the concrete next to them sure didn’t.

 

“Well, would you look at that,” Stiles mused, crouching down level to the pad. The keypad looked identical to the ones used for all the Beacon Hills facility’s doors, complete with even a card slider. After close inspection, Stiles sat back and said, “We may have a bit of a problem.”

 

“I got this,” Allison said, stepping up. She kneeled down next to him and pulled a couple key cards from her pocket.

 

“What the heck are those?” Stiles asked.

 

“I may have been more suspicious of my family than I let on. I found these keys in their things. I figured they might come in handy, here,” she said, handing them over to Stiles. Stiles took them, turning them over in his hand. They were flat and black on one side, white with one black magnetic strip on the other. There were no words, just numbers printed in black on the backside. Each had different numbers, all were six digits. He tried the first, nothing happened.

 

“Whose was that?” he asked, handing it back to Allison. She turned it over and read the numbers.

 

“My dad,” she said. “Try my aunt’s next,” she pointed out which one it was and Stiles tried it. Nothing happened, and he handed it back. She handed him the last. He hesitated before swiping it, but when he did to his surprise the lock let out a _ding_ and one of two green lights lit up on the side.

 

“Yes!” he shouted, but they were only halfway there. Allison’s eyes narrowed beside him, but she took the card from him and turned it over. She punched in the numbers that were printed on the back. The second green light came on and the door let out a mechanic hiss.

 

“Whose was that?” Lydia asked. Allison stood, pocketing all three cards.

 

“My grandfather’s,” she said coolly, and the look on her face didn’t brook questions. She pulled open the metal doors with some effort, they were heavier and thicker than they’d looked. Blackness greeted them when Allison let the doors fall open to either side, and a ladder ventured into its depths. It looked rickety and it creaked when Allison put her boot on the first rung, but it held steady.

 

“Last chance to back out,” Stiles said, looking to Allison and Lydia. Allison might as well not have heard him. She steeled herself and began the climb down. Lydia looked a little less sure, but nodded. She let Stiles help her start down the ladder, and after she was far enough down Stiles started the climb himself. He wished he had some way to make sure the door stayed open, prop it up somehow, but if no one else came it shouldn’t be a problem. He would worry about it when it became one.

 

It was dark going down the narrow shaft, but luckily the dim lighting had made the ladder look longer than it actually was. The climb down was relatively short and Stiles hopped down onto an aged brick floor covered in moisture and moss. There was a dripping sound coming from somewhere down a long, dark hallway. There were a couple of exposed bulbs hanging at intervals on the ceiling, and Stiles could see down far enough to know the hallway went quite a ways. A few bulbs were illuminated, which meant Danny hadn’t been wrong about the electricity. Metal hatches were set into the wall along the right side, some closed, some open, some missing.

 

Beside him, Lydia pulled out a small pink digital camera and took a picture.

 

“You brought a camera?” Stiles nearly jumped at the flash.

 

“You didn’t?” Lydia shot quizzically. Well, he’d brought his phone, but no, Stiles hadn’t thought of that. He was glad he had Lydia.

 

The trio looked between each other and began slowly down the hallway. They tried each of the hatches; some wouldn’t budge from rusting or other damage, but some gave way with a couple of hard shoves. Whoever the ubiquitous ‘they’ were, they weren’t hiding anything in these rooms. The ones they did get into were small, dark and empty save for rusted metal structures that were too weathered to determine the function of.

 

Lydia took pictures in each of them. Her camera had the memory space, and they had no idea what was relevant yet so she argued why not? Stiles wasn’t about to stop her, until he caught her taking one of Allison with a peace sign thrown up.

“This is serious. We’re doing _serious_ investigation things,” he quipped. The girls laughed him off and Lydia took a shot of his grumpy face pulled into a pout. Giving up, Stiles continued on.

 

The rooms seemed to resemble the processing rooms of Beacon Hills, with obvious structural and functional differences as they were underground. On closer inspection each room had metal hatches set into the ceiling, and Stiles wondered aloud if these processing rooms didn’t use to have some kind of lift system when in use. It was a neat idea, but not what they had come for. The girls stopped his fixated mind in its tracks, pulling him from one room that had more intact machinery to continue down the hall. In the last room they checked the hatch had fallen in and the hole let in a ray of midday sunlight. Grass and leaves had fallen through, and bugs crawled along the walls.

 

Nothing of suspect in any of the rooms they’d checked, and no way into the others, they continued down the hallway all the way down as far as it went, and when they reached the end there was another heavy-set metal door blocking them from going further. Like the entry hatch, there was another key pad keeping it locked. Allison pulled out her grandfather’s keycard again, swiped it and entered the code and it got them through. The door opened with a pressurized pop.

 

Allison pushed the door open and the three of them stepped through onto metal grating.

 

“What…the hell,” Stiles whispered. The door had led them out onto a grated landing that looked out over a big open room with dark grey brick walls and plenty of cold lighting. The room underneath them was full of serious-looking scientific equipment, complicated gadgets and machines that Stiles could only guess at the purpose of. It looked like some kind of mad scientist’s laboratory mixed with a meth lab.

 

The room was filled with the hum of electronics in use, lights blinking and beeping on the machines below. None of it looked aged, none of it looked like reused machinery from the sixties. Everything in the room below them was new, in fairly regular use, and Stiles didn’t like the look of any of it.

 

“What is all this?” Lydia asked, walking forward and touching the metal rail of the landing. She leaned over a little, taking in the whole room.

 

“I have no idea, but it can’t be anything good,” Allison said. There was a spiral metal staircase that led down from the landing to the lab below. All three took the stairs, Stiles first and the girls close behind. They split up to search the room, staying within eyesight. Stiles took a row to the left, combing over the setup to get some kind of clue as to what the purpose of the place was. There were tabletops covered seriously scientific-looking equipment, microscopes and beakers and flasks full of mysterious contents. Monitors displayed numbers and figures that made no sense to him. Stiles opened a small cabinet full of small phials in trays and pulled a row out, picking up a few of the small things to see if he could make anything out on the labels. Meaningless strings of words and letters told him nothing. The substance inside was like black ink, but Stiles knew it couldn’t be anything as simple as that. He put it back, frustrated, and moved on. Large metal tanks lined the walls, cautionary labels on the side to warn him of high pressures or toxic chemicals inside.

 

“You guys find anything?” Stiles called. There was no guarantee no one else was around, but so far they hadn’t seen another living soul. No one came running at Stiles’ shout, so he figured they were okay for the time being.

 

“Nothing that I can make sense of,” Lydia called back.

 

“Me neither,” Allison added. Stiles, giving up making sense of the place, circled back to the girls.

 

“Is there _anything_ here that could give us something to go on? Lydia, you’re some kind of genius right? Shouldn’t you know what this stuff is?” Lydia looked at him like he’d just suggested the sky had turned green.

 

“Just because I know how these things function _, Stiles_ , doesn’t mean I know what they’re being used for. Sure, if I had time I could maybe take a look at some of those compounds under a microscope, but what we need are files, hard evidence. Digital copies, notes, _something._ This is no meth lab, whatever research or experimentation they’re doing down here they’ll be keeping records of it. No way someone with this setup wouldn’t be keeping things recorded,” Lydia said. Getting and idea, Stiles ushered them back to the computer he’d passed. It was still running some kind of program and didn’t look like any kind of operating system that came standard with your average Dell, but it had a keyboard and a mouse.

 

“Think you can figure something out with this?” Stiles asked Lydia. There was a swivel chair nearby, she pulled it over and sat. She put her hands to the keyboard.

 

“I can try,” she said. Stiles and Allison stood behind her, watching as she typed commands and tried to coax the machine into giving her some kind of clue. When their hovering got to be too much, she shooed them away, demanding some thinking space. Stiles and Allison took up meandering around the room, kicking around more of the equipment to see what they could find.

 

“Wonder why no goons have shown up yet to string us up,” Stiles said aloud. A place with that kind of set up had to have people working it. Many people. This place was obviously a hub of illegal werewolf-related activities, and Stiles guessed whatever the purpose of the lab was it had something to do with experimentation on werewolf kind. The disappearances made sense, in that light. Take a bunch of werewolves no one would miss and you’ve got a veritable steady supply of lab rats. It kind of made Stiles want to light a match and watch the place burn, but they had to have evidence. They had to find something they could use to end it all for good, whatever the hell they were doing.

 

But back to the empty evil science lab problem. Allison shared his thoughts.

 

“This place is obviously staffed,” she nodded towards an empty used coffee cup that had left a ring on a note pad on one desk. Evidence of life where there was none currently in residence.

 

“Maybe it’s their day off?” It was his only guess.

 

“We haven’t seen or heard anyone since we entered, nor have I seen any cameras or monitoring but I won’t trust that luck to hold. Whatever we do I suggest we hurry up,” Allison made a fair point. Stiles nodded.

 

“Alright,” he said, scanning the level. Two hallways branched away from the room, one leading left and the other on the far side of the room heading the opposite direction. “Once Lydia is done we’ll keep going, and we’ll stay together.” The pair gave Lydia a few more minutes, then made their way back to her. She was finishing whatever it was she’d done, and spun back around on the chair to face them. She looked rather pleased with herself.

 

“Find anything?” Stiles asked.

 

“Maybe, I don’t really know. I found files that looked like experiment logs, nothing I could understand at the moment but if I spend enough time with them I’ll be able to work them out,” she said.

 

“We don’t exactly have all the time in the world, Lydia,” Allison said.

 

“Not at the moment, no, which is why I made copies and put them on this,” Lydia replied and held up a tiny black SD card.

 

“Where the heck did you get that?” Stiles asked, but got his answer a second later when she pulled her pink camera from her pocked and inserted the card back into it. Stiles nodded appreciatively.

 

“Clever,” he praised. Lydia smiled, stood.

 

“Shall we?”

 

The three left the lab, taking the hallway to the right. Unlike the big lab, the hallway they’d picked was lit only by emergency strip lights on the floor. The further they got from the big room’s light the less they could see, but Allison had the answer for that. She pulled out a tiny hand-held flashlight from her back pocket.

 

“Sorry, only have the one,” she said.

 

“See?” Lydia said, turning to Stiles. “Aren’t you glad we brought her?”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles retorted, then stopped the trio. “Hey, Allison, shine the light up here,” he asked. She complied, swinging the flashlight up to the door they were stopped in front of. There were several along the wall, metal hatches just like the floor above, but these weren’t rusted or old. They were new-looking, thick metal, and by the sheen Stiles could tell they were coated in silver. There were name plates next to the door. Stiles didn’t recognize name on the door before them, so they moved to the next one and Stiles did a double take.

 

“ _What in the world?_ ” Allison asked in hushed breath. On the side by the door was written Peter Hale. 

 

“Allison, keycard,” Stiles ordered, and after a moment of fumbling between the flashlight and her pocket she handed the flashlight to Lydia and gave Stiles the card. Under the nameplate was another keypad, and Stiles swiped the card. To his dismay the card was rejected, the light blinking red.

 

“What the hell is this Stiles?” Lydia whispered as the light from the flashlight moved away from the door. Lydia shone the light on the door across, illuminating the name Talia Hale, and two more down from that door Cora Hale, and at least half a dozen more names that Stiles didn’t recognize. Lydia kept the light up for each of them to see if the card would work on any of them, but it didn’t.

 

They were trying their luck on an unmarked door when Lydia gasped and dashed away with the light.

 

“Lydia - hey, it’s kind of _really dark in here,_ ” Stiles called after her, jogging to catch up from where she was staring blankly at the nameplate of a door further down. Her hand came up to clasp over her mouth, and her hold on the flashlight was shaking.

 

“Lydia, what is-,” Allison began, coming next to stand next to her.

 

“Oh, Jesus…,” Stiles muttered. The nameplate read Jackson Whittemore.

 

“Card - give it to me,” Lydia turned to Allison and pulled the card from her hand when Allison didn’t move fast enough for her.

 

“Lydia, it’s not going to work-,” Allison tried to object but Lydia swiped the card regardless, then again when the red light blinked on and again and again when it rejected her.

 

“Lydia-,” Stiles tried to stop her but Allison was on it, trying to calm Lydia down and get her to step away from the door. Lydia was shaking and her face was screwed up in effort not to cry. Stiles’ mind whirled. His hands started shaking, and while Allison tried to keep Lydia calm, he did his best to keep himself together too. He smoothed his hands down on his shirt, ran his fingers through his hair. Then he noticed something.

 

He took the light from Lydia.

 

“Guys, the door-,” he called their attention.

 

“What?” Allison asked.

 

“It’s busted,” he said, running his fingers along the seam between door and frame. The part near the handle was misshapen, warped out of place. The handle wouldn’t turn without the keypad unlocking it, but he gripped it tight and jimmied it. There was movement, but he couldn’t quite pry it open. With enough force, however, it would give. He was sure of it.

 

“Move,” Allison ordered, and he didn’t argue. She took hold of the handle, put a boot against the wall and with a grunt, pulled back on the door. Something gave way on the mechanism with a great _clank_ and the door swung open. Lydia was the first to rush in, Allison right after her and Stiles brought up the rear with the flashlight.

 

The room was small, cramped, empty of anything else besides a giant cylindrical tank installed on the opposite wall. Wires and tubes rooted the tank, disappearing into holes in the wall. At the base of the tank there was a panel of knobs and switches and a digital screen that was cracked to hell. The glass of the tank was shattered, a gaping hole right in the middle. Shards of glass littered the floor, but whatever it had held was no longer there.

 

Behind them, the door swung shut. All three jumped, and Stiles may or may not have let out an embarrassing noise in fright. Stiles and Allison rushed to the door, Lydia stayed staring blankly into the tank.

 

“It’s okay,” Allison said, testing the door. “I think that was automatic, it should still open,” she said, giving the door a shove to prove her point. That was one less thing to worry about, so Stiles turned the light and his attention back to the room. He approached Lydia slowly.

 

“Stiles…what the hell is all this?” Lydia whispered. He desperately wished he could give her some kind of explanation, but he was at a loss himself.

 

“Come on, there’s nothing here anymore,” he said. “We’ve got to keep moving.” Allison had gotten the door open again, and the three left the small room visibly shaken. They paused outside, debating on whether or not to press on or call it quits and bail. None of them voted for the latter option.

 

“Stiles-,” Lydia whispered in a tiny voice, pulling on his sleeve. He looked to her, but she was looking at the floor. He pointed the flashlight down to see what she had noticed, and a sick feeling curled in his gut. He knelt down, touched the streak to make sure but it was unmistakably a smear of old, dried blood.

 

“Up here, too,” Allison said grimly. Stiles pointed the flashlight up and like she said, there was another smear along the wall at about knee height. As if there weren’t enough adrenaline pumping through him at the moment, another spike shot his emotions up to a peak. Stiles swallowed, stood, and slowly crept down the hallway, swinging the flashlight around the floors and walls looking for more. More they found, getting thicker and leading straight down the hallway. As they followed the trail a smell started pricking in his nose. An awful, dirty smell that got thicker and heavier as they moved down the dim hallway. Every inch of Stiles was telling him he was not gonna like what he found at the end of the trail, that this was a terrible awful idea and he should turn tail and run.

 

But he had to know.

 

The trail of smeared blood led on, and they followed it all the way down the hallway to an arch. The three stopped a few feet away from it, the silence thick between them, no one daring to speak a word. Stiles’ heart hammered in his chest, every instinct telling him to turn tail and get the fuck out of there.

 

But he couldn’t stop himself from moving forward. The second he turned the corner, he regretted the decision. He took one look, gagged, fought the overwhelming urge to vomit. He reeled back, pressing himself against the wall outside, fist in his mouth to fight the bile. Lydia and Allison moved forward to see what he’d reacted to, but he instinctively reached forward and grabbed Lydia by the waist to keep her from entering. Allison he didn’t manage to stop, he heard her gasp and stumble back but he couldn’t look again just yet.

 

“What is it, what the hell-,” Lydia demanded, pulling against Stiles’ grip. He desperately didn’t want her to see any of it, but his limbs were numb from the shock and revulsion and she broke free of his grasp and stumbled after Allison. A beat later both he and Allison were after her to keep her away from it, from seeing it, but they were too late. Lydia’s scream echoed off the stone, piercing the dead silence. Allison pulled her out of the room, but Stiles was frozen where he was. The first time he hadn’t seen much more than a glimpse, but this time he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the carnage in front of him.

 

Dozens of bodies littered the room. Not bodies intact and neatly lined up in rows or in a pile on the floor. In _pieces._ Strung out and ripped apart. Blood, gore, organs, stripped from bones like wet paper and flung on the walls like a child had thrown a tantrum. It was dripping from the walls, dried and crusted over but still _reeking._ Men, women, some in lab coats still intact enough to identify, all in various states of decay. It wasn’t fresh, this hadn’t happened recently.

 

“Stiles-,” he felt a hand on his sleeve, pulling him back. It was Allison, he recognized dimly. It felt like her voice was coming through a long tunnel.

 

“Stiles we have to get out of here,” she insisted, tugging harder. Stiles let himself be pulled, his feet turned on their own and he backtracked away from the room. Once outside he fell against the wall, slumping to his knees. Lydia stood in the middle of the corridor, shaking silently. Allison stood next to her, gritting her teeth and fighting the urge to break down. She paced, pulling at her hair, glancing towards the archway like she couldn’t help it. Stiles noticed all these things, his senses hyper-aware, but it was like someone had shoved cotton balls into his ears. His world was narrowing down to specific details, the blink of the emergency strip lights on the floor next to him, the sound of Lydia’s shallow breaths, the way the flashlight beam danced in Allison’s shaking fingers. When had she taken it from him? He couldn’t recall, he didn’t care.

 

They sat like that for a while. No one said anything. No one asked questions or reacted in any way beyond silent, consuming horror. Stiles, the one with a brain that ran a mile a minute and couldn’t stand sitting still no matter the circumstances, was the first to move.

 

He stood and numbly put a hand in his pocket, drawing his phone from it and switching on the camera function. He didn’t look up as he approached the door, he looked only through the view on his screen. That way he tried convincing himself he was watching a movie, he wasn’t seeing it in front of him. He plugged his nose and breathed through the fabric of his t-shirt, and took as many pictures as he could make his hands stay steady for. He couldn’t take more than a few, he had to back out again or his lunch really would be joining the mess.

 

Shaking, covered in a light sheen of sweat, he rejoined the girls. He moved toward them, locking eyes first with Allison, then with Lydia. Allison looked shell-shocked, like she’d retreated inwardly to deal with it. Lydia wasn’t as good at keeping composure, but her tears had stopped and she was only just shaking in Allison’s arms. Stiles moved forward to put a hand on her shoulder.

 

All three snapped to attention when a loud metallic clank echoed from somewhere far away.

 

“What the _hell_ was that?” Lydia nearly screamed, voice tight and hysteric. A second sound, closer, had them all turned towards the mouth of the hallway.

 

For a second time, Stiles’ blood ran cold.

 

Illuminated in the dim light from the lab stood two figures. One, a man, tall and dressed in what looked like a long coat. The other was no man, nor any beast Stiles could think to put a name to. It crouched on all fours, and Stiles could distinctly see a long, reptilian tail undulating back and forth in a hypnotic manner. The thing let out a long, low hiss that echoed in the hallway, bouncing off the walls and sending chills down Stiles’ spine.

 

A moment passed, and Stiles didn’t breathe. Then, without warning, both figures moved. They were lightning-quick and they disappeared in the opposite direction as the trio, fleeing back into the lab. Allison hesitated only a moment longer, then let go of Lydia and sprinted after them.

 

“ _Allison!_ ” Stiles bellowed after her, then when she didn’t stop, he let out a string of very foul cusses. He didn’t have time to think, to plan, to dissect what the _fuck_ was happening, all he could do was grab the nearly-unresponsive Lydia’s hand and pull her with him as he sprinted after Allison.

 

She was taking the stairs up out of the lab by twos, and Stiles let go of Lydia’s hand to catch up to her. Lydia had regained herself, and followed behind just a couple steps. Allison was out the secondary hatch before Stiles could catch her, and down at the end of the hall the way they had entered Stiles caught a glimpse of the reptilian figure disappear up the ladder.

 

Allison reached it first and was up it in the blink of an eye. Stiles went after her, and Lydia followed. On the surface the light was dimmer than he had figured it would be, the sun was already setting and the shadows cast by the trees were long and dark.

 

“ _Allison_ -,” Stiles called when he didn’t see her immediately. His head whipped around, looking for her and the shadowy figures she was chasing. The hairs on the back of his neck hadn’t gone down, and for a few seconds more his heart hammered in his chest thinking he’d lost Allison along with whatever the hell that _thing_ had been. Then he spotted her, yards away in the clearing. Relief at the sight of her washed over him.

 

“Allison, what the _fuck- was that,_ ” he shouted, and she turned. He couldn’t get much else out. Chase over, his need to breathe finally kicked back in and he doubled over, panting. His stomach churned, and the image of the room full of carnage was brought back to him in full, gruesome detail. The adrenaline of the chase pumped through him, making the contents of his stomach twist and flop until he couldn’t fight it. Allison was coming back to them, she was saying something, but he couldn’t focus on her. He stumbled a few feet away from where he’d been standing and retched up the contents of his stomach.

 

Numbness spread over him. His brain fought to process everything running at a million miles an hour through his mind. Most of it centered on what the _fuck_ any of that had been.

 

 

_Fuck._

 

_What the fuck._

 

Stiles couldn’t even begin to process it, not right then. He pulled himself up, ran shaking fingers through his hair. He breathed, closed his eyes, and brought his hands over his face.

 

“They’re gone,” Allison was saying. Her voice was shaking, she wasn’t nearly as in control as she’d seemed. “Both of them, I have no idea where they went. I don’t see them, I don’t know what the _hell_ they were but we need to get the _fuck out of here,_ right now. Stiles, keys-,” she said insistently, and her suggestion pulled him out of it. He stuck his hand into his pocket, pulled his keys out. He looked at Allison, then at Lydia. They both stared back at him for a moment. Allison’s eye held his with a look of determined focus, Lydia’s were wide and blank. No words came to him. He silently turned from them and trudged back to his jeep.

 

\--

 

“Who do we tell?” Allison was the first to speak, but not until after all three were piled in his jeep and Stiles had reached the main road. He’d driven like a maniac to get out of the underbrush, crashing through foliage without a care. His hands gripped the steering wheel tight, his knuckles white. Allison sat in the passenger’s seat, Lydia was curled in on herself in the back.

 

“Tell _what?”_ Stiles asked coldly.

 

“What do you mean, _what?_ All that shit we just saw, everything down there - whoever it is that was in there, _whatever_ it was next to him - they’re out. I’m pretty sure that whoever and whatever they are, they’re the ones that killed all those people down there. Who are we going to tell about _that,_ Stiles,” Allison said, every word sharp. Stiles stared dead ahead at the road.

 

“Who _can_ we tell?” he returned. She scoffed.

 

“So, what, we just keep _silent_?”

 

“I don’t know, Allison!” Stiles yelled, hands going rigid on the wheel. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t do this. His foot slammed the brake and he veered off the road, parking them on the shoulder. He breathed deep, trying to get enough air into this lungs to calm down and _think._

 

“Stiles-,” Lydia said from the backseat, reaching forward to touch his shoulder. He jerked away from her.

 

“That was some serious shit down there,” he said.

 

“Well no _shit_ , Sherlock,” Allison retorted. “What made you think that, the _dead bodies_?” Stiles ignored her.

 

“But who the fuck knows who’s responsible for that. Who was in charge, who let any of that happen. You saw all the shit down there, there was a lot of money involved in setting that up and running it. Whatever they were experimenting on, _whoever_ they were experimenting on, researching, whatever - who was doing it? Who was in charge? Your grandfather’s key got us in there,” he said, turning to Allison. “So hunters are involved, I was right about that but who else? Just because their cards didn’t work doesn’t mean your dad or aunt doesn’t know about this place.” Allison blanched.

 

“No! My father - he’d never-,” she protested, but a look darkened her face.

 

“But?”

 

“But Gerard. I wouldn’t put something like this past him. Him or Kate,” she admitted.

 

“Exactly. Two high-ranking hunters that are associated with the sanctuary. But they aren’t the ones running it, that’s sure as shit. So maybe they’re just hired hands, maybe they’re just in charge of the supply. Peter Hale, Talia, Cora, the other members of the Hale family. Dead bodies, moved over there and I guess preserved for two years for something. Laura may have had her own tank in there - then Jackson-,” Stiles stopped himself.

 

“ _Oh God_ ,” he heard Lydia whisper from the back. “ _Jackson, what did they do to you?”_

 

No. Stiles couldn’t react to that. Not just then, he couldn’t do anything to get Lydia’s mind off it. He had no answers, he had nothing to say to her. He pinched his eyes shut, he focused.

 

“I don’t know,” he said. He shook his head, eyes still closed. “I don’t know, _I don’t know.”_


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm late I'm trash I'm very late trash. Life. School. Lots of complicated things. This chapter is long and awful and hasn't been beta'd id like to personally apologize for the awful quality but here it is, finally. Ow, by Stephen Moccio is the song for the chapter. I won't be back to my regular schedule any time soon, I'm sorry, I'm very busy with school. I'll get the next two chapters done at some point, I promise I'm not abandoning this fic. 
> 
> ahh, enjoy.

In the end, they returned to Stiles’ house. Stiles didn’t trust himself behind the wheel much longer than that, and neither Lydia nor Allison felt up to parting ways just yet. Stiles’ father wasn’t home yet, he was still on duty at the sanctuary. When Stiles walked into the empty house he thought it for the best, he wasn’t sure how to face his dad just yet. He knew he’d look a wreck, and he was still working on composing himself so that when asked what was wrong he wouldn’t burst into hysterics.

 

Stiles led the way to his bedroom in silence, the two behind him followed in much the same fashion. He couldn’t even find it in him to recognize that this was the first time in his eighteen years that Lydia Martin was in his bedroom. He dimly recognized the knee-jerk reaction, but he felt numb to the novelty. His fifteen year old self would probably hate him for not being more excited about the moment he’d dreamed of since grade school, but there were more pressing matters at hand.

 

The three of them gathered around his cramped, messy room and Stiles took a seat at his computer desk. Lydia sat on the bed, Allison stood studying his investigation wall attentively.

 

“We need to talk about this,” Lydia began in a small voice, breaking the radio silence. Stiles had his back to her, he stared out the window over his desk. He drummed his finger on the desk surface, acting like he hadn’t heard her.

 

“Stiles-,”

 

“Give me a minute,” he said, a touch more harshly than he meant it. He was still having trouble making his hands stop jittering. He let out a sharp breath. He swivelled in his chair to face the two girls in his room.

 

“We need to figure out who we’re going to with this,” Allison said. She crossed her arms, she was still pacing in front of his investigation wall. Just that morning Stiles had been sitting in front of it, staring up at it trying to puzzle all the pieces together like it was some kind of logic problem that would fall into place if he solved all the clues. _God._ He ran his fingers through his short hair.

 

All of a sudden he felt tired, extremely tired.

 

“Who can we trust?” he said. “Well, start with who we _can’t_ trust, work from there,” he amended.

“My grandfather, Gerard. He’s secretive, he’s manipulative. His key got us down there, my gut says he’s involved,” Allison said, not looking a bit guilty to be saying that about her own family member. Stiles wasn’t close with his grandparents, but he had an idea that grandfathers ought to be old doddering white-bearded men with crinkly smiles and smelly sweaters. Not involved in homicidal cover-ups, but Allison looked convinced. She took a pen from his desk and a spare piece of notebook paper. She wrote her grandfather’s name, then her aunt’s and tacked the sheet up on the wall.

 

“If Gerard’s in on it I’m willing to bet Kate is too,” Allison explained. “Whatever Gerard is involved in Kate’s usually two steps behind.”

 

“Alright, that’s two. Sure your dad shouldn’t go up there too?” Stiles asked. Allison looked like resented the suggestion. She shook her head.

 

“No, my dad’s a good man. He goes by the code, _always_ ,” she insisted.

 

“I still don’t think we ought to go to him just yet, it’s too iffy, sorry Allison,” Stiles said.

 

“I agree, sorry,” Lydia backed him up. Allison pursed her lips, but she was outvoted. She put his name on the list too, but off to the side away from Kate and Gerard.

 

“Anyone at management-level at the sanctuary. The budget approval for the facility over there had to come from someone high up, so Harris is out definitely. And whoever is in direct charge of the sanctuary’s hunters – they’re out too,” Stiles mused. Allison added the names to the list.

 

“Those are the only people I can think of,” Lydia said after a moment where they all paused to brainstorm. “I don’t know who any of those workers were we found. I couldn’t tell you if they looked familiar, if they were technicians from Beacon Hills or not.” _For obvious reasons,_ she tactfully left out.

 

“They could’ve been contracted workers, they might have been brought in from outside, I don’t think we’ll ever know,” Stiles agreed. They let that conversation tangent drop there and Stiles grabbed a new sheet.

 

“Alright, so people we know we can trust,” he said, standing and tacking that up on his wall too. He grabbed another pen, wrote his father’s name. Then, after a beat, he added _Melissa McCall_ underneath.

 

“Scott’s mom?” Lydia asked.

 

“Yeah. There’s no way in hell either my dad or her are involved. Outside of them, though, I got nothing,” he said, then looked to the other two. Allison shrugged.

 

“I don’t know any other people at the sanctuary.”

 

“There’s Danny, I guess?” Lydia said.

 

“Yeah, but I’m not sure if I want to drag him into this,” Stiles replied. Lydia shrugged.

 

“Fair point. Not sure what he could do to help us anyway. I’d say Finstock possibly… but same case.”

 

“No, we’re not going to Finstock with this. I’m thinking someone with a little more authority,” Stiles shot that idea down.

 

“The police?” Allison suggested. Stiles nodded.

 

“Yes. But not yet,” he said.

 

“Not yet? What are we waiting for?” Lydia asked. “We’ve got the files, we’ve got pictures, I’d say that’s enough to at least get someone over there to check things out,” she argued.

 

“I know, but just…not _yet,_ ” Stiles insisted, turning from her. He was thinking and his thoughts invariably turned to Scott and then to Derek. They had to know, some powerful instinct in him made him want to drop everything and run to the sanctuary, to Derek, and unload all the awful he’d witnessed. Something in him made him think Derek could make it all better, could deal with this so much better than Stiles could.

 

“Then when do we go to them?” Allison pressed. Both girls were looking at him now.

 

“After I’ve told Scott and Derek,” Stiles said finally. Thinking it over he decided there wasn’t much point in keeping it from them any longer. They were involved now, so he figured what the hell.

 

They both looked confused.

 

“Stiles, what do you mean? Derek? Derek Hale? Or Scott - what does this have to do with either of them?” Lydia asked. Stiles pressed his eyes closed, hoping this wasn’t a horrible idea.

 

“It has everything to do with them. Derek is the only reason I started looking into this. I’ve been talking to both of them, Derek is the one who told me about Oak Creek,” he said.

 

“How?” Allison asked, apprehension clear in her voice. She was beginning to catch on. Before Stiles could explain himself, Lydia spoke up from the bed.

 

“All those times you disappeared at work. You were going into the sanctuary, weren’t you?” she guessed it. Stiles nodded.

 

“Yeah.” Beside him, he heard Allison’s sharp intake of breath.

 

“Stiles _-,”_ she began, but he cut her off.

 

“I know, it’s extremely illegal, it’s dangerous, believe me, I _know_.”

 

“That’s not what I was going to say,” she said. He turned to look at her, and she fixed him with a look of dead determination.

 

“I want you to take me in there. I want to see Scott.”

 

\--

 

He didn’t give her an answer, at least not right away. He told her he’d think about it, definitely. Maybe. Probably, but honest to God he just couldn’t think any more that night so he drove both girls home and then returned, sitting in his idling jeep just a few minutes before turning the vehicle off and climbing out of it. It was well dark by then, the night was muggy in a way that meant rain was coming. Looking up Stiles couldn’t see any stars through thick clouds, and he frowned up at them. He stood out on his driveway only a moment more before returning inside.

 

He methodically made himself Ramen noodles for dinner, taking time to carefully pour the water and stick it in the microwave, then he watched the digital numbers tick down. Normally waiting for anything to heat up drove him nuts – a minute, thirty seconds, too long for him to wait. He’d go off and do other things, forget about his food in the microwave and return an hour later to find it cold and mushy, then throw it out and repeat the process with something else. But Stiles stood watching the numbers slowly count down, mind blank, hands still on the counter’s cold surface. His eyes stung, his neck ached. He felt _so damn tired_.

 

His father came in almost exactly when the timer went off. Stiles startled, turning sharply when he heard his father in the entryway. Like a deer caught in headlights his eyes went wide. His father had called out something as he entered, some kind of greeting Stiles hadn’t heard clearly, but when he turned into the kitchen he stopped mid-sentence.

 

“Stiles?” his father asked, cautiously regarding him. Stiles blinked.

 

“Uh, dad?” Stiles returned stiffly. His father was looking at him oddly, reading the tension in his son.

 

“Why…why do you look like you’ve just seen a ghost? God, kid, you’re white as a sheet,” his father said, walking into the kitchen. His face was etched with concern, and Stiles internally flailed for a moment, trying to fix his features into some kind of reassuring expression. He swallowed thickly.

 

“Scary movie,” was his lame response. “I was watching one before you came in, I had to change the channel, turn off the TV, something. You just scared the shit outta me, is all,” Stiles tried to blow it off. To distract himself he opened the microwave, pulling his dinner out and fixing it up with the little packet of seasoning. The boiled noodles turned brown and Stiles found a fork. They didn’t have chop sticks and Stiles didn’t have the patience to eat Ramen with a spoon. When he turned back to his father he had a mouthful of dangling noodles, and the ill manners helped the picture that Stiles was a-ok, his normal weird teenager self. His dad only looked half reassured, but accepted it.

 

“Told you so. You’ve got all the lights off too, of course you’re gonna give yourself a heart attack,” his dad said. With a laugh Stiles agreed, then moved out of the kitchen with his meal.

 

“Hey,” his dad called after him. Stiles turned. “What’d you get up to today? Besides the late night monster movie?” Stiles shrugged in a hopefully nonchalant manner.

 

“Oh, nothing much. You know me, no life.” His dad gave him a look.

 

“So none of those chores I asked you to do got done?” Stiles nearly choked on his noodle.

 

“Oh, shit Dad – no, sorry, I forgot,” he felt bad. He had plenty of time that morning to get things done, but hadn’t. His mind had been on other things. Now he really felt like shit – his dad was overworked as it was and he only asked Stiles to do the bare _minimum_ around the house, and, just shit-

 

Stiles’ composure, barely hanging on by a thread as it was, began to slip. His dad must have caught it, he interrupted Stiles’ train of thought.

 

“Whoa, hey, kid it’s fine – no big deal. You’ll take care of it later, alright?” his dad said. Stiles wasn’t someone to need comforting all that often. His dad looked concerned, his reassurances were stiff and a little awkward from disuse. Stiles shook his head, reminded himself he was trying not to make his dad worry.

“Right, no, sorry, just…long day. Okay, yeah I forgot. I’ll take care of them tomorrow, sorry,” Stiles said.

 

“You sure everything’s alright?” his dad pressed. Stiles made himself smile.

 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired,” he insisted. His dad lingered at the kitchen door a moment longer, watching his son.

 

“Okay,” he finally said, accepting Stiles’ word for it. And that was that.

 

\--

 

Sleep wasn’t happening that night. Stiles tried, for the better part of an hour, but after that he gave up. Every time he shut his eyes images would rise, unbidden but _there,_ like they were scorched in his corneas. The silence in his room was deafening, and he welcomed the storm that broke around midnight because it brought thunder and lightning and somehow those things were comforting to him. The steady fall of rain beat against his roof and window, filling the spaces between the booms of thunder. He could focus on the noise, the irregular flashes of light, and that made it easier to stop thinking.

 

It never lulled him to sleep. He lay on his bed, staring up at his ceiling, counting the rolls of thunder.

 

\--

 

He had to work in the morning, so, when his alarm clock woke him up he pulled himself out of the bed, stuffed himself into some clothes and went downstairs for stale Pop-Tarts to be eaten on the way there. His dad had already left sometime much earlier than him, Stiles had heard him go some hours before. Sometimes they called his dad in early, it happened. Some issue or another they needed the head of security to look over. As he crossed town Stiles idly wondered what that morning’s dilemma was.

 

As he merged onto the highway, Stiles’ phone beeped in his pocket, and he got his answer.

 

“ _Stiles? Where are you, are you on your way here yet?”_ his father asked when Stiles pressed the phone to his ear.

 

“Yeah dad, I just hit the highway-,”

 

“ _Go home, don’t come in. Turn around and head back to the house right now,”_ his father ordered. The half-eaten Pop-Tart dropped from Stiles’ mouth, he took a firmer grip on the wheel and sat up a little straighter.

 

“Dad, what’s going on? Why do you sound like that, what happened?” He heard his father sigh deep, frustrated.

 

“ _I – I don’t know any details yet. Just go home, I’ll let you know when I get home,”_ his father said. Like hell was Stiles waiting until then.

 

“Well what about work?”

 

“ _The sanctuary’s closed. Indefinitely. We’re trying to reach as many people as we can, so call your friends up if you have their numbers and let them know not to come in, okay?”_

“Dad _what is going on?”_ Stiles pressed.

 

“ _I’ll see you tonight,”_ was all his father responded with, and then he ended the call. Stiles cussed colorfully, throwing the phone on the passenger’s seat. He checked behind him, then merged into the fast lane and put his foot down on the gas.

 

\--

 

Stiles pulled into the parking lot of the sanctuary not ten minutes later. It wasn’t a large lot, nor was it even paved. It was a great big dirt clearing in the trees with logs as space markers in keeping with the general nature feel the sanctuary welcoming center was supposed to give off. That the buildings were tall, industrial and made of white mountain ash-concrete clashed magnificently with that scheme. Then there was the walls, every bit as flat white and starkly out of place surrounded by forest, disappearing on either sides of the large building into the trees. Owing to the fact that the ground floor of the sanctuary was taken up by the sanctuary’s medical facilities, the front door on this side was up a flight of concrete steps up to the second floor. They had a handicapped ramp on the other side for guests who didn’t like making the climb.

 

The parking lot in front of the building was big enough to hold maybe fifty cars at max capacity, and employees had a row by the entrance to their own. When Stiles pulled up, his spot had been taken over by an overabundance of police cruisers. Red and blue lights flashed, police tape cordoned off the steps up to the entrance of the building. A loose semicircle gathered around the line, police officers, sanctuary security, and a few employees that hadn’t gotten the call early enough. Spectators, gawking.

 

Stiles parked his jeep haphazardly, threw the door shut and moved into the crowd to see what the commotion was all about. The hair on the back of his neck was pinpricked, he pushed past a few onlookers and saw what they were all looking at.

 

There was blood on the front steps of the sanctuary. Just a small patch, one spot near the bottom. A chalk outline was drawn somewhat awkwardly to accommodate the steps, and there were notations of the blood splatter set up around stray bits. Before he could piece together what he was looking at, Stiles felt a firm grip on his shoulder.

 

“What did I tell you?” his father spun him around, angry. Stiles rolled his eyes.

 

“Like I was just going to go home,” he said. Stiles knew his father didn’t seriously expect him to do what he was told. He looked angry, but not the least bit surprised.

 

“Would it kill you to do what I ask? Just one time? Once, really, that’s all I ask Stiles,” his dad said, exasperated. He put a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes.

 

“So what happened?” Stiles deflected. His dad sighed a long, deep sigh.

 

“We found an employee this morning dead on the steps. She was mauled, looks like some kind of animal attack,” his dad said, casting a glance back towards the sanctuary steps. Stiles sensed a _but_ in there.

 

“But?”

 

“But, well, look where we are,” he said, gesturing to the sanctuary building.

 

“Right. Got it,” Stiles nodded.

 

“We’re going to get an autopsy and experts down to identify what killed her, _but,_ this is going to look very, very bad.” Yes, it was. Accident or not, wild animal or not, once it got out a woman was killed by a wild animal on the steps of a werewolf sanctuary, assumptions were going to be made. An idea formed in the back of Stiles’ mind, one he didn’t like even in the slightest. One that made him go very, very cold.

 

“Dad,” he began, “Do you really think it was? A werewolf, I mean,” he asked. His dad gave him a funny look, like there was something he didn’t know how to say.

 

“Honestly…it could be. I don’t want to believe it is, but it looks like one. It’s no one from ours, they called me in here this morning to double check. As soon as we found her we sent men out into the sanctuary to count everyone up. No one’s missing, all of our werewolves are accounted for. But an outsider? Someone on the loose, maybe. It’s not unlikely at this point,” he said. Something inside Stiles relaxed just a tiny bit.

 

“So what happens now?”

 

“It’s up to the police now. Sanctuary security has been cooperating with them all morning, but it’s been decided it’s out of our hands now, now that they know it wasn’t an escapee. Like I said, they’ll do an autopsy to confirm but I’ve already heard them calling in backup hunters,” his dad said. There was somewhere suddenly Stiles felt he very urgently had to be.

 

“Ok. Alright, well, then I’m gonna head home,” Stiles said.

 

“Good, yeah, I’ll be home later tonight. At some point, but, don’t wait up for me if it gets too late, okay?”

 

“Alright dad,” Stiles agreed, then went back to his jeep and started it up. Then he drove to Lydia’s house.

 

\--

 

It took some time getting there, Lydia lived on the far side of town. He flipped through radio stations on the way there, most were playing top forties as usual but some news stations were starting to report on the story. It seemed a little premature, but news travelled fast, especially news about the sanctuary. Stiles listened intently when he found a station running a story.

 

_Urgent news update on the situation at Beacon Hills Sanctuary – an employee, whose name has not yet been released, was found dead on the grounds this morning. Preliminary investigations we are told implicates some kind of animal attack, but speculation is running wild about the possibility of a werewolf attack, though again, press were assured no inhabitants of Beacon Hills Sanctuary have been reported missing. We are assured that all werewolves in their jurisdiction have been accounted for. The incident has thus fallen under control of local police, who are working in conjunction with sanctuary security. Now – it has been less than a month since the recapture of infamous Beacon Hills inhabitant Derek Hale. Speculators at this point have been questioning whether or not Hale made another escape attempt that ended in the reported death, but any conjectures at this point remain merely speculation. Hale has not yet been named in connection with the case-_

At that point Stiles changed stations. People sure did get suspicious real quick. Use Derek’s name reporting on the incident and _no shit_ people were going to start speculating their little hearts away.

 

“ _Dammit,”_ Stiles hissed, hands tight on the wheel. He drove faster.

Lydia was holed up in her room when he arrived. Her mother answered the door, but Stiles heard Lydia’s voice coming from upstairs telling her mother to let him up. Stiles was allowed in, and after exchanging pleasantries he went up to find Lydia. Her room was spacious, decorated with sophisticated taste, and currently buried under a mountain of papers. It looked like Stiles’ whenever he got seriously involved in homework.

 

“Just come in, you can move some of that off the bed and sit,” Lydia said and Stiles did as told. Lydia was at her desk turned towards her laptop and engrossed in whatever she was reading there.

 

“What is all this?” Stiles asked, picking up a few sheets. Nothing but numbers and colored graphs he had no idea how to decipher.

 

“It’s everything I got from the lab, I’ve been going through it since last night. Stiles, this – what they were doing, I don’t know for sure but I think I’m beginning to see it,” she said, and finally turned to face him. Her hair was in a loose, messy bun pinned back with a pencil. She wore a t-shirt and sweatpants, and for the life of him Stiles couldn’t help but appreciate this was probably the first time in his life he’d seen Lydia look haggard. She looked as exhausted as Stiles felt.

 

“Couldn’t sleep?” Stiles guessed. Lydia shrugged.

 

“Don’t tell me you could either,” she said.

 

“No, not a wink,” he agreed. “So, what were they up to?” Lydia turned back to her desk, pulling a stack of papers toward her. She leafed through them, picking out a few and studying it.

 

“You know how only born werewolves can bite and turn people?” she asked.

 

“Yeah, why?”

 

“It looks like they were isolating the mutating agent produced by bitten werewolves that infect humans on contact. For lack of a better term, we call it venom. Bitten werewolves don’t produce it, they don’t develop the glans in the mouth post transformation. No one is sure why, but I’d bet is some kind of species control mechanism – I’m getting off topic, that’s not important,” she stopped herself.

 

“No, but I always wondered about that,” Stiles said.

 

“Anyway, they were experimenting on it. Mutating venom, testing different strains from multiple sources to try and synthesize something that could immunize against it,” she explained.

 

“A cure for lycanthropy?” They certainly wouldn’t have been the first people to try. That kind of research wouldn’t require a secret base and a lot of dead scientists. Venom could be and was extracted fairly regularly and easily – heck Stiles knew they sometimes did it during monthly checkups. It was once a theory born werewolves could be prevented from biting and turning other people if all their venom was extracted or the glands that produced it destroyed somehow, but nothing had ever been effective in doing that outside of cutting them out of their mouths. That proved to be too inhumane a process to be approved nationwide.

 

“No, not exactly,” Lydia said, bringing him back to the topic at hand. “Well, yes that’s part of what they were doing but that’s not it. Somehow they were able to get ahold of tissue samples that were able to resist the effects of the venom. Someone who was naturally immune. They were testing their mutated venom against the immunity. I don’t know why, but that was a large part of what was going on down there. The only other thing I can glean from this is they were trying to trigger the alpha mutation in different subjects artificially,” she finished.

 

“The alpha _mutation?_ ” Stiles echoed.

 

“Right. Alpha werewolves – it’s not just a pack title, that we know. In born werewolves sometimes the alpha instinct is triggered and they undergo a physical change. We’ve never known why or how the change is affected, looks like they were trying to find that out.”

 

“Did they do it?” Lydia shook her head.

 

“I don’t _think_ so. I think they were close, but that’s where the reports stop,” she said. He almost didn’t want to ask, but he knew he had to.

 

“Did you find out what they were doing to Jackson down there?” Lydia again shook her head.

 

“No. There aren’t any names on these reports, just identification by numbers. I don’t know what was tested on who,” she said.

 

“Alright then,” Stiles said, then because he felt a change of subject would do her good, he told her about the incident at the sanctuary that morning.

 

“I hadn’t heard, I called in for the day off this morning but I got the automated system. Jesus…,” she looked away.

 

“The…the two _figures_ we saw down there. The ones that got out, I can’t say for sure it was them, but what if it was?” Stiles finally put in words what he’d been fearing. Lydia was quiet.

 

“They’d have a grudge against the sanctuary, that’s for sure. I guess the only question who? Who are they? And what are they going to do now?”

 

Neither had an answer to that.

 

\--

 

The sanctuary would be reopening the next day. Stiles’ father told him so over the phone later that night. After he’d left Lydia’s house Stiles had gone straight home to sit on the couch and watch the blank television screen as he tried to piece together his scattered thoughts. Hours later, after dark and when it was far later than Stiles’ father usually returned home, he called to update Stiles on the situation. The body had been removed, the scene processed and cleared. The autopsy had yet to take place, but it had been decided there was nothing keeping the sanctuary from opening the next day.

 

“ _Gerard Argent’s been up my ass all day, he’s against reopening but he’s in the minority,”_ his dad said over the phone. Stiles could hear how tired he sounded in the receiver.

 

“Why?”

 

“ _Who knows. They want time with the scene, or they want to go in the sanctuary tomorrow and question all the inhabitants. Which is ridiculous, none of them left we know that. Argent’s been demanding security footage but he doesn’t have the authority to get those. Not yet anyway. Harris isn’t happy, but he’s never happy when he has to close. It’s Harris’ word on whether or not we open tomorrow, and he’s made his decision,”_ he said.

 

“Any idea when they’ll let you go?”

 

“ _Not yet, but we’re almost done here. Just have a few things to wrap up then I’ll head home. Get to bed, it’s late,”_ he told Stiles, who made a non-committal noise and hung up. He let the phone fall to his side, then yawned and peeled himself up from the couch. He went to his room, sat down on the bed. He wasn’t sure if sleep was going to happen or not, but he figured he might as well try. Sliding under the covers he closed his eyes, willing the images away.

 

They wouldn’t leave him completely, but, giving out to exhaustion, Stiles drifted to sleep.

 

\--

 

Work the next day was tense. There was an unspoken air of apprehension laying thick over them as they went about their jobs, no one spoke or chatted much and any interaction with the few customers that came was muted and terse. To Stiles’ surprise Finstock put him in the café on the observation deck, ringing up cheap salads and wrapped sandwiches for the day. They were spread thin, his boss had explained. Hardly anyone had actually turned up for work, most were too scared to come in. Stiles took the job with minimal complaining. It wasn’t tour guides and even Finstock seemed affected by the tense atmosphere and was significantly less overbearing.

 

Stiles had kept in mind what Allison had asked of him in the jeep after leaving Oak Creek. She wanted in to see Scott, and while he hadn’t yet agreed to do it he felt it unfair to deny her now. But things were different now, Stiles knew he had to be more careful this time. There were more security around the facility than usual, and they had their beady eyes on everyone. Stiles had no idea what it was like downstairs, and there was only one way to find out. When his lunch break rolled around, he threw caution to the wind and took the elevator down to the lower floor.

 

It was busier than he expected down below. Guards were everywhere, stationed at nearly every corner. Stiles was spotted almost immediately by the desk lady who most definitely was not on break like she should be.

 

“You, kid, what are you doing down here? How did you get down here?” she demanded, making a beeline for him. Stiles scrambled for an excuse, something, but his brain still isn’t up to one hundred percent capacity. His bullshitting circuits must have been malfunctioning or on the fritz, because the sight of the lumbering service desk lady made his plan go out the window. Luckily, he was saved in the nick of time by Melissa McCall, who descended like the angel she was to his rescue.

 

“Whoa, hey Gertie, this kid’s with me. He’s got my pass, it’s okay,” she staved off the woman, heading her off before she reached Stiles. Desk lady did not look pleased, but Melissa McCall was a full technician and her word meant something. Desk lady retreated to her desk, and Melissa pulled Stiles along to a private cubbyhole of an office.

 

“Stiles, we talked about this, didn’t we?” she said once the door was closed. The space is small, just a desk and a chair and a metal filing cabinet where a few magnets clung to. One of them was a picture of herself and Scott, magnetized into place by two round blue ones at opposite corners.

 

“I was worried,” Stiles said. “Worried about you – it was a technician that got attacked, I heard. I just…I was worried,” Stiles repeated. He was, actually. Really worried. He’d never say it out loud for fear of embarrassing the hell out of himself, but Melissa McCall was something like a maternal figure for him. She saw the genuine worry etched on his face, and Stiles knew she wouldn’t stay mad at him.

 

“They still aren’t sure what did it, but right know they’re assuring everyone it was animal attack,” she said without much conviction.

 

“Right. Animal attack,” Stiles mirrored her lack of belief in the cover story.

 

“But Stiles-,” she said, and caught his gaze. She smiled when she had it. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me, alright? I’ll be okay – it’s going to be alright, they’ll figure it out,” she said. Stiles tried to believe her, but his head was a jumbled mess of thoughts.

 

“Okay,” he said anyway, nodding. She opened the office door for him.

 

“Don’t let me catch you down here again. I have no idea how many times I can cover for you, that woman is relentless on watch,” Melissa said. Stiles agreed. She walked him back to the elevators, saw him up. As he rose to the second floor, Stiles pulled out his phone and sent a text message to Allison.

 

_Meet me in the sanctuary lobby, tonight, closing time._

 

After he stepped out of the elevator, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

 

 _Okay_ the reply text read.

 

\--

 

Stiles knew it was a crazy plan, he knew it was dumb and stupid and not well thought-out and he was probably going to get both of them thrown out on their asses or _worse,_ but Stiles was about at the end of his nerves and Stiles _had to see Derek,_ that night, or else he’d really go nuts. It was an awful feeling, the unravelling of his sanity. But seeing Derek again, he was convinced it would make it all better. To just be able to unload everything on Derek and have Derek deal with it.

 

It hit him, as he was waiting for Allison in the lobby, everyone else checking out and going home, how much he had missed Derek. How much he ached at the thought of seeing him again. It was like a raw hole in his gut he hadn’t even known was there was about to be filled in. That hole, when had it been carved in him? Stiles had no idea, it had grown in the pit of him so gradually he hadn’t even been aware.

 

The strength of what he was feeling, standing there, anticipating seeing Derek again, shocked him. Or, it should have. It did, but at the same time it really didn’t. Half of him was surprised to find how much he missed and cared about Derek, the other half was going _told you so._

 

Stiles shouldn’t have been left with his thoughts that long. When Allison finally arrived, slipping into the lobby doors as everyone was still leaving and before the night crew had a chance to lock up, she found Stiles staring blankly at a wall with a look of comically intense concentration. She couldn’t engage his attention right away, she waved a hand in front of his face and he finally snapped out of it.

 

“Stiles? Are you alright? You look a little…like shit,” she said bluntly. He stared at her a moment.

 

“Haven’t been sleeping. Not well, at least. Have you?”

 

“No. Not really. So, are we doing this or what?” she ended that line of conversation.

 

“Yes. Let’s go.”

 

\--

 

Gertie the Desk Lady was still at her station when the elevator dinged open. She glared at Stiles, about to throw a fit, but Stiles beat her to the punch.

 

“Melissa McCall asked me to bring these down to her office before I left,” Stiles said, motioning with his chin to the stack of manila folders in his and Allison’s arms.

 

“What are they?” Desk Lady asked, rightfully suspicious. Stiles shrugged.

 

“I have no idea, she didn’t say and I wasn’t about to look.” It was the truth, sort of. They’d lifted them out of Finstock’s office. Stiles had no idea what was actually in them.

 

“Well, then hurry. I’m off duty in five minutes and I want you both up before my replacement takes over,” she ordered, then waved them off imperiously. Stiles, for once not having to sneak past anyone, went down the hall with immense relief. There was no way he’d be getting past these guys anyway – there was a man at nearly every juncture of the hallway now, but, because the universe must have been smiling down on him for reasons unknown, not down the processing room hallway. He and Allison left the folders in Melissa’s office and made their way straight there, walking briskly like they were supposed to be there and knew what they were doing. Stiles guessed they were more concerned with the elevator, the only way to the upper level, and less worried about that end of the facility. Hurrying her along, Stiles ushered Allison into the faulty processing room and set about opening the hatch.

 

“How did you figure out how to do this?” Allison asked, somewhat in awe.

 

“Desperation. I had to see Scott,” he said, heaving the door open. “No power in the verse was gonna stop me from seeing him.” Allison had nothing to say to that.

 

\--

 

It was dark, it took them some time winding their way through the woods. As if still afraid of getting caught, both were silent the way there. Allison seemed to be appreciating the atmosphere of the sanctuary, this foreign and strange forbidden place she’d never been inside of before. Stiles had felt like that the first few trips in, but he slowly forgot it and the sanctuary became nothing but a couple miles of woods to him. If he managed to forget about the walls, that is.

 

There was no one near the recreation hall, it was deserted.

 

“I had no idea what this place was like inside,” Allison said in low whisper. She sounded tense, and Stiles understood why. Her hunter senses must’ve been on high alert, surrounded by thick forest populated by werewolves. And unarmed, no less. That Stiles had been adamant about, no weapons. Unless she had a knife hidden on her somewhere, Allison seemed to have complied.

 

“They’re not here, but I know where else to look,” Stiles said, walking on. Allison lingered for a while, taking in the clearing, the bleak apartments, the feeding hatch in the middle.

 

“It’s like a prison. No, it is a prison. It’s awful,” she said.

 

“Let’s go,” Stiles urged, not replying to that.

 

\--

 

Stiles found the path to Derek’s house easily enough. His feet remembered it well, though he could count the times he’d been there on one hand. Neither experiences had been particularly enjoyable, but as they approached something started unclenching in Stiles’ heart automatically. He found himself picking up the pace, clearing the trees and walking out into the open expanse where the big concrete house sat on the hilltop. The sight of it was oddly comforting, but the figures milling around the front even more so.

 

“Stiles!” Scott was the first to see them, but the rest, Erica, Boyd, Isaac, and – there he was – Derek turned almost in unison to the scent of Stiles and Allison entering the clearing. Scott’s gaze slid right past Stiles, however, and locked onto Allison. The others saw her too, some of them immediately suspicious and pulling back at the new, unknown person.

 

Not Scott. No, there was a moment between when Scott saw Allison and when he started moving towards her. At his side, Stiles heard Allison’s sharp intake of breath before she started walking forward too. Walking, then running, then sprinting to where Scott met her in the middle of the open grass in a crushing embrace and a kiss.

 

It was a desperate moment of intimacy Stiles tactfully looked away from, giving them wide berth as he walked around to join the others by Derek’s front porch. Scott and Allison were lost in each other, and as Stiles had guessed, the last two years hadn’t quite been enough to squash all, or any affection Allison still had for Scott, no matter how she’d acted. Stiles could hear Scott when he pulled away from kissing her, he was whispering over and over her name, _Allison, Allison, Allison._

Stiles came to a stop at Derek’s side.

 

“Sorry to bring her unannounced,” he said. Derek looked away from Scott and Allison, still flush against each other they were, eyebrow drawn.

 

“Friend of his?”

 

“…You could say that.” Derek shrugged.

 

“If you trust her enough to bring her, and if Scott’s that, ah, _comfortable,_ with her being here, I’m okay with it,” Derek said. He made a gesture to stand down at Isaac, Erica and Boyd, who looked just as surprised as Derek had seeing their little display.

 

“And I thought _we_ were bad,” Erica said, nudging Boyd.

 

“So, what did you bring her here for? And where have you _been_?” Derek asked, voice going serious all of a sudden as he turned on Stiles. Stiles nearly melted under that look, that void coming back up at him to remind him just how much he’d _missed_ this big werewolf man.

 

“There’s…there’s a lot I need to talk to you about,” Stiles said, and he could feel everything come rushing back up at him. All the horribleness, all the awful, everything that he’d been so eager to tell Derek. Everything he was so desperate to finally say out loud, and the anticipation of confessing was doing odd things to him. A lump was forming in his throat, and Derek could see instantly the change in his mood.

“Alone?” Derek guessed. Stiles nodded. Derek said something to the other three, then started off towards the woods. Stiles followed after him. They walked a ways down a narrow dirt path. Derek stayed silent, waiting for Stiles to start. Stiles had no idea how to. No clue. Where to begin?

 

Stiles stopped walking. Derek stopped too, turned to face Stiles. Stiles wasn’t sure what else to do, he had no idea what he wanted to _say_ but Derek was right in front of him, watching him with those _eyes,_ and Stiles knew finally what he wanted to do.

 

Stiles walked forward and kissed Derek. He kissed Derek hard, eyes squeezed shut, arms going up around Derek’s neck. Derek, sensing somehow Stiles needed a momentary distraction of the kissing persuasion, kissed him back just as hard. Derek’s arms went around Stiles’ waist, holding him there tight, flush against the comforting warmth that was Derek’s chest.

 

Stiles felt _good_ there, stomach and nerves coming unknotted for the first time in days. Everything was Derek, nothing was awful or horrible or bloody, it was just _Derek_ and Derek felt very nice.

 

When Derek deepened the kiss with an inquisitive tongue, that felt pretty nice too.

 

What a terrible inconvenience breathing was, though. Stiles never wanted his lips to leave Derek’s ever again, no, he was pretty sure he’d be content if he could spend the rest of his life kissing Derek, but that life would be pretty short lived if he didn’t pull back and breathe, so he did, smiling just a little with the loss of contact.

 

Stiles opened his eyes again. Derek was watching him, face gone all soft with concern.

 

“What’s wrong?” Derek asked without letting go of him. Stiles was incredibly okay with that. But now he needed to answer Derek, he needed to say a lot of unpleasant things. He steadied himself for them with a deep breath.

 

“Everything,” he said first, a little shaky. Derek watched him, waiting.

 

“How bad?” Derek asked.

 

“Awful. Horrible. _God, so horrible._ There were – there were bodies, Derek. Bodies, all over the place. _So many bodies, in so many places.”_ It came out breathlessly, Stiles had to squeeze his eyes shut against the images, pressing his forehead to Derek’s chest.

 

“Stiles, what are you talking about-,”

 

“At Oak Creek. We went, me, Allison and Lydia. We went like I said we would-,”Stiles said, then stopped. No, he’d never actually told Derek he was going over there. He had come to tell him, but hadn’t. Other things had happened that night, namely Stiles nearly getting eaten, Derek protecting him, then kissing him that first time, but no, Stiles hadn’t actually told him he was going to go.

 

“You _went?_ Why? Why would you do that?” Derek asked.

 

“We found evidence. Oak Creek was still running, we, Danny found…stuff,” he tried to explain, attempting to get his story straight. “Anyway. Not important. We went and we found things. People. No, before the people – there was a big lab there. Lots of science and shit, computers and experiments going on. We found a bunch of doors with names on them, a lot of your family, Jackson – they weren’t dead, they were _there,_ they were _there the whole time,_ those people were doing things to them, Derek. Awful things, terrible things. But they’re – those people, they’re dead now and we _found them._ ” His thoughts were a mess, he could barely get the story out and by that point he was ready to give up and find Allison so she could explain things clearly, but when he tried to pull away Derek pulled him back.

 

“I get it, I get it, Stiles _calm down,”_ Derek told him. Stiles breathed deep, trying to.  

 

“Okay, okay, I’m calm,” Stiles tried willing his statement to truth. He pulled back from Derek, who let him go this time. Stiles mourned the loss of contact, but he needed an unclouded minute to breathe. And think. And. Something.

 

“You went there. They were doing, what, experiments?” Derek clarified.

 

“Yeah. Lydia’s been going through some files we managed to copy. She’s still not entirely sure, but whatever they were doing it had something to do with immunity to the bite and mutating werewolf venom,” Stiles struggled to reiterate all Lydia had told him. Hey, it was in full sentences. Progress. He felt less jumbled, less jumpy now that Derek was there, Derek was going to help him figure out what to do.

 

“So my family…Peter, Laura, Cora, my mother…,” Derek said. God, Stiles wanted to take back everything he said, he wanted to go back and say they hadn’t found anything, or found them alive and happy in some kind of day spa, _anything_ but the truth.

 

“Derek…I’m so sorry,” Stiles whispered. Derek shook his head.

 

“No, don’t be sorry. _You_ didn’t do any of this. You…you found out what happened to them. No, don’t apologize, I’m grateful for that,” Derek said, pulling Stiles back into a tight embrace.

 

“Derek they were _everywhere._ Those people. Torn to shreds. On the walls, on the ground, _everywhere,_ ” Stiles tried to see.

 

“I don’t understand that part – why? The scientists working there, right?” Stiles nodded into his chest. He realized he’d left a part out.

 

“When we were in one of the rooms – Jackson’s – we found signs something broke loose. It could’ve been Jackson, it might’ve been someone else breaking him out of there. He might not even be a factor at this point, but whatever the case, it seemed like something got out of their control and killed them. We didn’t find anyone else down there, I’m not even sure what happened to any of the others in those other rooms. But…as we were leaving, there were two figures that got out ahead of us,” Stiles said.

 

“Someone…got out? Who? Do you have any idea?” Stiles shook his head.

 

“Didn’t get a good look at them. They were two quick, but one of them was definitely _not human._ ” Stiles nearly shuddered, thinking of that oddly moving silhouette, something snake-like in the way it had undulated.

 

“Stiles,” Derek said, gripping Stiles’ shoulders tight and moving him away. He looked Stiles hard in the eye, face set in a tight expression. “You need to leave.”

 

“What?” Stiles blurts.

 

“Leave Beacon Hills, now, today, right now,” Derek said seriously. Stiles backtracked.

 

“Why?”

 

“Whatever got out, it was probably one of us. Something like me, at least. Someone who _has your scent,_ ” Derek said pointedly.

 

“Derek…That’s…I don’t think, I don’t think I’m in danger,” Stiles reasoned. No, something told him he wasn’t. “If they wanted me or Allison or Lydia dead, they wouldn’t have let us out of that place. We wouldn’t be here. They wouldn’t have gone after that technician instead.”

 

“What technician?”

 

“Right, one more thing. Someone was attacked yesterday morning on the steps of the sanctuary. They worked here, and the police are saying it was an animal but a lot of people think it’s a werewolf,” Stiles said.

 

“And you think it’s whatever got out of Oak Creek?” Derek asked. Stiles nodded. “You realize that doesn’t make me feel _any_ better?”

 

“I know. Sorry, but I’m not going anywhere,” Stiles said emphatically, burying his face back in Derek’s chest, squeezing the larger man snug around the middle. Reluctantly, Derek squeezed him back.

 

“Jesus, Stiles. You have any idea how worried I’ve been these last few days? After that little _stunt_ you pulled – and by the way, you’re apologizing to Scott, to all of them-,”

 

“Oh _god,_ Scott. He’s not mad at me, is he? Oh man,” Stiles groaned.

 

“No, he’s furious at himself. He’s been beating himself up ever since the full moon. And it’s not his fault, it’s on your dumb ass,” Derek growled.

 

“I know, I know, I’ll…talk to Scott. But what _have_ you guys been up to? Why were they all here on your lawn?” Stiles was curious. Derek smirked a little.

 

“I was teaching them how to control the shift.” Stiles blinked.

 

“No shit?”

 

“No. Scott’s getting pretty good at it, actually. The other three need work, but Boyd’s catching up to him. Full moon really put things into perspective for them. Scott’s been really upset, but he’s been channeling that into controlling the shift,” Derek said, almost with a touch of proud father to his tone. Stiles was duly impressed, if still a little guilt-ridden.

 

“Okay,” Stiles said, moving away from Derek. “We should go back, regroup. Pull Scott and Allison apart and catch everyone up to speed.”

 

“…Alright.”

 

“Then, we plan.”

 

 

\--

 

Allison and Scott had miraculously managed to pull themselves apart on their own accord, and Allison had been filling the others in Stiles and Derek’s absence. Scott looked horrified, the others a little shell-shocked themselves, and Stiles noted Scott’s arm was looped firmly and protectively around Allison’s waist.

“I’ve got them up to speed,” Allison said as Stiles and Derek walked up.

 

“Good. Then no objections if we go to the police with this?” Stiles asked the gathering.

 

“You really think they’ll be able to do anything?” Isaac asked.

 

“I don’t know, maybe, we’ve got photographic evidence. That should at least get someone over there. If not, this stuff is going on the internet,” Stiles replied.

 

“We’ll figure out something, there’s no way this is staying quiet,” Allison agreed.

 

“You two be _careful,_ ”Scott said, looking at both Allison and Stiles, who nodded back. They knew what was at stake.

 

“We should get heading back,” Stiles said, glancing down at his watch. “We haven’t been here long but they might start getting suspicious.” Allison agreed, and Stiles turned to Scott.

 

“Scott, no, everyone-,” he turned to the others. “I’m sorry. About the other night, that was really dumb of me, I didn’t mean to do that to you. I’m sorry.”

 

“Derek told us what happened,” Scott said quietly.

 

“Scott, I’m-,”

 

“No, Stiles, I’m sorry. I should’ve had control by now, and I nearly-,”

 

“No, stop, Scott, I’m at fault here, none of you are. It was my bonehead move. I’m sorry, you’re not,” Stiles stopped him. He was having none of Scott apologizing. That matter settled, Stiles gave Scott and Allison a moment to say their goodbyes, and, feeling bold, he turned to Derek.

 

“I’ll be back soon, I promise,” he said, then, in front of the others, the powers that be, the whole world, Stiles kissed Derek. His eyes were open, he locked them on Derek’s that drew back in surprise. Stiles pulled himself back before he could let himself want more, turned on his heel, and started walking. Allison joined him shortly after, and Stiles could hear a low whistle come from Erica as the pair left the clearing.

 

“So. That’s why you’re so involved in all this,” Allison said. Stiles, red in the face, muttered only “ _Shut up,_ ” and continued walking.

 

\--

 

She was still ribbing him by the time they made it back to the hatch.

 

“No, I can see it, he’s kind of cute actually. You know, for a werewolf. Though I can’t really say anything about that,” Allison was damn near laughing at him and Stiles didn’t think his face could get any redder.

 

“God, leave me _alone_ woman,” he grumbled as they entered the processing room and Stiles fixed the door. It was quiet inside, dark. Allison laughed a little, and then he shushed her and listened at the door.

 

“I don’t hear anyone outside, I think we’re in the clear,” he said.

 

“So when did you two become a thing? That didn’t look like the first time you-,”

 

“God could you please just _leave it alone-,”_ Stiles made to tell her to shut up as he opened the door. Then, he stopped short. Both of them did.

 

Guns were pointed at them. A semicircle of guards stood outside the processing room door, handguns all pointed directly at the exiting teenagers. There was silence in the hallway. Stiles felt like he’d been plunged into a vat of very cold water.

 

Stiles heard a cool, calculating, slimy voice to their left. His head felt stuck as he turned slowly to see Harris, director of the sanctuary, standing there grinning like an evil little snake curled around his meal.

 

“Well, _what_ do we have here?”


End file.
